


Ain't Nobody Straight in L.A.

by Nicrenkel



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Actor!Ian, Actor!Mickey, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Comfort/Angst, Fluff, Hollywood, Humor, Los Angeles, M/M, On Set, Smut, Social Commentary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2018-12-19 14:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11899764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicrenkel/pseuds/Nicrenkel
Summary: Mickey Milkovich is an action movie hero; Ian Gallagher is a television heartthrob. When they unexpectedly join together for a hit drama, will Ian be able to keep his cool around the crush he’s been obsessing over?





	1. (You Can’t Let the Boy Overpower) The Man In You

**Author's Note:**

> The fic title is from a Smokey Robinson and the Miracles song. As it turns out, a lot of his song titles fit the chapters I’ve already outlined, so I’m just going to stick with him.

“Look sweetheart, I know you’re not as stupid as you look. Trust me, I’ve been in this business a long time—longer than I care to admit on a first date, and I can tell you: If you want to out yourself and go float around as a gay actor, then you might as well book yourself a one-way ticket back to Kansas. Okay? Is any of this getting through to you?”

Ian Gallagher stared back in shock, swallowing the man’s words slowly. His hands gripped the sides of the table, bunching up the expensive fabric under his fingers. Is this really fucking happening?

“I know you have your little project going for you now, and you’ve built up a name for yourself, but nobody gives a shit about your feelings, okay? You’re a pretty face. That’s it. As long as you stay pretty, stay fuckable, you can keep this up for awhile. But nobody wants to put some gay little fairy in a lead role. Men want to be able to get a beer with you, not have to worry about swatting you away from their dicks the whole time. Girls want to know you’re available. They want you for themselves. You cut off your female fanbase, you’re dead in the water. Trust me, no girl wants to fuck a gay guy. I know what I’m talking about, Ian.”

Ian could feel his pulse throbbing in his throat. He tried to slow his breathing, tried to unclench his fingers, but he couldn’t break eye contact with the older man sitting in front of him, and the man just kept going.

“Look, we’re out at a nice restaurant, an expensive restaurant thank you very much, on a night that’s not easy to just up and get a table at, let alone one with a view, so I suggest you stop your whining and start showing a little appreciation here, huh? Chuck said you knew what was what, so why not act your age, and start giving me something to work with? You’re a good looking kid, you’re what, 23? 24? Old enough to know better?” He leaned close to Ian, “How about you tell me all the things you want me to do to you tonight, and we’ll go from there. Maybe I can find you a role in one of my movies? We’ll see how hard you can work for it…”

Ian was out of his seat and around the table in a second, dragging the guy backwards by the collar, stumbling out of his chair and landing smack on the ground behind him. His head hit the hard floor with a loud thunk, and Ian landed a solid punch to his jaw. Barely able to breathe through the constriction in his chest, Ian panted towards his erstwhile dinner companion, writhing in fear underneath his tight grip, “I’m not from Kansas, asshole. I’m from Chicago.”

With that, he head butted the older man, rendering him unconscious. He stood up, grabbed his glass of water from the table, and downed the remains. The still surroundings caught his attention, prickling the hair on the back of his neck. He looked around at the stunned audience of shocked dinner guests and scandalized waiters. The silent tension suddenly unbearable, Ian smiled and cleared his throat. “Can I get a to go box?”

The manager approached the area, horrified, hands gesturing towards the splayed studio executive on the floor, mouth gaping silently. “No?” Ian asked innocently, “That’s okay. Dinner’s on him.” He turned and strode confidently out of the restaurant.

He’d already had a cigarette out and prepared to light it as he walked out the front door and into the waiting crowd of paparazzi and onlookers. This restaurant was a popular spot for higher paid celebrities and show runners, so to emerge into a million flashes wasn’t unusual. Ian knew they weren’t there for him, but the rage coursing through his veins told him he was about to be the high point of their night.

“Ian Gallagher! Ian! How are you doing this evening?”

“What brings you here tonight, Ian?”

“Who are you meeting with, Ian? Were you with your new costar?”

“Ian, we just heard the news that—“

He cut them off with a dismissive glance and a raised eyebrow, “That I’m gay? Yep. You heard right.”

There was a moment of silence, immediately followed by a steady hum of camera clicks. “Gay? Ian, did you just announce that you’re gay?”

“Is this this your first public confirmation of your sexuality?”

“Can you tell us who you’re dating, Ian? Ian!”

He took a long inhale on his cigarette, and looked right into the camera with the red tape and black “TMZ” logo on the side, “I’m gay. I LIKE fucking men, and I’m really fucking good at it. And unlike that coward in there,” he motioned towards the restaurant, “I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

He flipped off the camera, and walked away

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Once he was far enough away that he felt safe from cameras and microphones, he pulled the cellphone out of his pocket, and scrolled to find his manager’s contact number. “Chuck, you fucking asshole. You told him we were on a DATE? When were you planning on telling me that? You said it was a fucking business meeting, for a role. You stood me up AGAIN, and left me there with that creepy sack of shit. Well, you’ll be glad to know you won’t have to manage me anymore, because my career ended five minutes ago. Fuck you, fuck him, and don’t ever call me again.” He turned off his phone, and flicked his cigarette to the ground.

He hailed the first cab he saw, and told the driver, “Faultline, 4216 Melrose.” The driver laughed, and informed Ian that he knew the place well, punctuating his flirtation with a wink into the rear view mirror. Ian rolled his eyes, and shifted into the door, looking gloomily out the window.

He knew that his roommates would want him to join them at whichever dance club they happened to be frequenting at the moment, but Ian was in no mood to chat. He checked his phone to make sure it was completely turned off, and focused on making himself invisible. After the burning wreckage that was the last half hour, he knew he’d most likely flushed his career down the toilet. He had fired his manager, pissed off an extremely well-connected, influential studio executive, and publicly outed himself against the advice of almost everyone he knew.

If this was Ian’s last night as a successful actor in Hollywood, he was at least going to make it count. He was going to get laid.

Ian strode confidently into the bar, and took in his surroundings; the simple, familiar feel of the bar downplayed just how popular (and packed) the place was. Known for being on the masculine end of gay bars, one was far more likely to find tattooed, pierced, leather-clad bikers in this place than go-go dancers. It may look somewhat similar to the Fairy Tail, but it felt more like the Alibi. And that was just what Ian needed. He had a specific type, and this was his frequent stop for when he was looking to hookup.

[ ](https://ibb.co/eubg6k)

Half an hour and several whiskey and cokes later, Ian felt himself finally start to unwind. He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had, and was grateful to feel the stress melting away; the ache in his shoulders lessening with every glass he downed. As he reveled at the burning sensation in his throat, he scanned the room. He locked eyes with a slender, broad-shouldered man with his black hair slicked back, and a predatory smile. His full tattoo sleeved-arms were resting back onto the table behind him, a bottle in one hand, a pool cue in the other. Ian knocked back his remaining whiskey and threw a $50 on the counter.

As he approached his target, the man turned and headed towards the restroom, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure Ian was following. Perfect.

The music was just as loud inside the bathroom, but Rob Zombie’s “Superbeast” was hard to hear over the sounds of moans and thuds echoing from inside the stalls.

The dark-haired man placed his hand on the door to the last stall, opening it to the side, ushering Ian in like a valet to his own private ride. Ian bunched his shirt up into a fist, and slammed him hard into the stall door. “Anyone ever tell you you look like Mickey Milkovich?” He cupped his hand over the brunet’s bulge and licked his neck, from his collar bone to his jaw. The other man gasped and leaned into Ian’s touch. “You look just like Archie from Riverdale.”

Ian suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Guess I had that coming.” He backed him into the stall and locked the door behind him. His hooked his fingers around the man’s belt and pulled him close. He nuzzled into his neck and ran his fingers through long black locks, tightening his grip and pulling his head backwards, exposing more of his neck.

The man opened his eyes, his gaze lingering on Ian’s bright red hair. “You really do look just like Archie, though. He’s so hot. I wish I could climb him like a tree. God damn, he’s so hot. I’m getting so hard talking about him.” Ian pulled back slowly, expression blank.

He released his grip on the man’s hair, and slowly moved his hands towards his own belt. “You’re hot too, though” the brunet said consolingly. “…Right”, Ian cocked an eyebrow and continued unbuckling. “You look just like him, or who’s that other guy, that other redhead, on that show that’s kind of like True Detective, but also kind of not? He’s hot too. Damn, what’s that show called?”

Ian cleared his throat, “Santa Monica Slaughter.” “Yeah, that’s it, that show. It’s a weird ass show, but that guy’s so hot. I’d fuck him, too. You look sooooooo much like him. Oh my god, you must get that all the time.” Ian placed a hand on the guys shoulder and guided him quickly down to his knees. He used his other hand to continue undoing his pants, and tried to focus on the grunts and moans coming from the stall next door. His dick twitched in response, and he could feel the alcohol coursing through him. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the man below him palm at him slowly.

“You could be, like, his twin… but your chin is way bigger than his, though.” Ian tilted his head down and looked at the man incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me, right now?” The man shrugged his shoulders and mouthed at the crotch of Ian’s boxers. Ian sighed, and let his head rest against the door behind him. He felt his pants drop to the floor, and the waistband of his boxers slowly made its way down Ian’s hips.

Just as his cock sprang free from the restraints of his clothing, the hands around him paused, holding the boxers in place against his thigh.

“Wait…” The man was looking up at Ian thoughtfully. “You’re Johnson?”

“You like it?” Ian grinned, and wrapped his hand around the back of the man’s head, pulling him forward.

“You’re Johnson? You’re the guy? You’re the guy from the show? Oh my god. Oh my god.” He jumped to his feet, and stared at Ian with large, animated eyes. “Do you know how god damn famous you are?” Ian blinked. “…What?”

“YOU’RE JOHNSON FROM THE SHOW! I’VE SEEN THAT SHOW! I’d know you from anywhere!” Ian stood there, taking in the moment, his neglected cock starting to flag. “It’s Watterson. I’m Watterson.”

In an instant, the man pulled out his phone and shouted, “Hey, YOU GUYS! I’ve got Johnson in here with me! Holy shit!” He held the phone out above them, aiming it downward, capturing them in their entirety. “Selfie!” He wrapped his arm around Ian’s neck, his image smiling brightly back at them from the screen, Ian’s half hard cock clearly visible.

“What? FUCK! No no no no, fuck, SHIT!” He shoved the man hard, pulling up his boxers frantically. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The man caught his grip on the rail, and fumbled with his phone. “You almost made me crack my screen, bro.”

Ian flung the door open, tripping over his pant legs as stumbled forward. He leaned against the wall, catching his breath as he quickly pulled up his pants and fastened them around his hips. “Hang on, chief, let me get a selfie- my friends are never going to believe this!” Ian stood frozen in place, his feet glued to the floor, his heart pumping rapidly in his chest. His wide eyes followed the oblivious man’s movements as he snapped a photo of the two of them, this time- thankfully, just their upper torsos.

The man began to work his phone furiously, his brow furrowed. “Give me just a second, I have to upload this really quicky.” Ian’s eyes searched the lobby of the bathroom. It was filled with people, not a single one of them glancing in their direction. His left shoulder was pressed up against the back of a mohawked man wrapped up in the arms of another; their grinding distracting them from Ian’s horrified predicament.

The dark-haired man to his right was muttering to himself distractedly. “Just… met… Johnson… bitches.” He looked up at Ian. “You can still fuck me, I just need to… hang on, I’ve got comments already. Holy shit, they’re sharing it! They’re getting my face out there, and it’s with yours! YAAAAAAAAS! Yaaas, you bitches, spread it like wildfire.” He scrolled through the incoming avalanche of comments, too lost in his own world to notice Ian bolting for the door, slamming it shut behind him.

“…Who the hell is Watterson?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

By the time the cab dropped Ian off at home, his bad mood had surrendered to hopelessness. This night had turned into such a shit show, he was almost impressed with himself. If there were any way to salvage his career at this point, he’d be hard pressed to find one.

He flipped on the lights, and called out for his roommates, but all signs pointed to him being the only one home. “At the clubs…figured.” He was relieved for the solitude; he was in no mood for conversation, and would’ve felt guilty had he snapped at his friends for showing concern.

By the time he made it to his room and closed the door, the tears were threatening to spill over. He took a few deep breaths and headed towards his Blu-ray collection. He sifted through the cases, considering his options. “Quadruple Punishment, Master of Vengeance, Impact: Vendetta…Extreme Termination…”

His fingers stopped at Infinite Overkill. Out of all of the movies Mickey Milkovich has ever made, Infinite Overkill had to be his favorite.

He studied the case in his hand, turning it over slowly. He dragged his eyes over full pouty lips, caressing them with his fingertips. Piercing blue eyes stared back at him, his expression vexed under smooth creamy skin and well defined eyebrows. His jet black hair was trimmed close on the sides, and long and slicked back on the top. He felt his pants get tighter, readjusting himself as he stared at the cover.

He slipped the disc in, and crawled into bed. He leaned back into his pillows, letting all other thoughts drift away as he watched bulging biceps, bitter scowls, and the sexiest round ass he’d ever witnessed saunter across his giant flatscreen. Slipping his hand into his boxers, he began gently stroking himself.

“You got somethin’ to say, fuckin’ say it to my face” Mickey spit, holding up an automatic rifle to the enemy’s chin, the man sputtering and begging for mercy in Mickey’s grip. Mickey slammed the butt of the rifle into the man’s temple, knocking him out cold. He twisted in place, using his previously unnoticed Taser Powered Knuckles on the man who was foolish enough to try sneaking up behind him. 950,000 volts collided with the intruder’s jaw, sending him flying backwards, catching the ground with the base of his skull.

“Fuck” Ian murmured, quickening his pace as Mickey swiped his thumb against his lip and poured the remainder of his flask across the two men lying limp on the ground, flicking the match he used to light his cigarette over his shoulder as he walked away, setting the area ablaze. “Reloading is overrated.”

Ian ran his other hand down his chest slowly, trailing down his chiseled abs and curving around the v defining his hips, caressing his balls, his other hand pumping frantically to the sight of Mickey biting and licking his bottom lip.

He was already close by the time Mickey’s character was in bed, thrusting his hips, groaning into the ear of some actress Ian was trying determinedly to ignore. “Mickey, fuuuuuck” Ian moaned, tilting his head back, pretending the sounds emanating from the man’s mouth were for him; that he was wrapped around Ian’s lap, thrusting himself onto Ian’s hard cock over and over.

He came into his hand, gasping for air. The last thing he saw as he passed out was the sight of Mickey, sweaty and exhausted, also struggling to catch his breath.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He awoke to the sound of multiple blenders grating loudly from the kitchen.

As Ian made his way out to the kitchen to plead for mercy, he was halted in his tracks by the bright and cheery faces of two of his roommates. “Here’s some pain reliever for your hangover, here’s a glass of water, and here’s your chair.” He gestured towards the island where they were preparing their gross health-nut concoctions. “Sit and spill, Sweetheart.” Tyler’s eyes were far too fucking sparkly for 7am.

“Uh, thanks.” Ian swallowed the pills dry and chased it with water. “Can you fucking turn those blenders off, please?” Dylan reached over and halted progress on their smoothies, bringing his full attention back to Ian. “Ian, tell us EVERYTHING. Start from the beginning. Don’t leave out any details.”

Ian eyed his roommates suspiciously. “Where are the guys? Is it just you two here?” Tyler waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t try and distract us, this is important. I’ve been waiting all night to hear about this.” “Did you have your phone silenced?” Dylan looked genuinely concerned. “ I called you. We texted you a million times, Ian.” Ian reached into his pocket, just now realizing he’d left his phone turned off since he left the restaurant. “Oh, shit, sorry you guys. Lemme turn it on, and-“

Tyler snatched the phone out of his hand before he could register what happened, and stuck it down the front of his pants. He turned to Dylan, and winked, “If he’s had it off all night, it’s going to be going off for the next hour.” “You are so bad”, Dylan smirked, placing slow kisses along Tyler’s neck. Tyler looked up at Ian, “You keep your phone on vibrate, right?”

“I fucking hate you. I hate you both. Give me my fucking phone back.” Ian held out his hand impatiently, while the two men started making out in front of him. “I’ll dump both of your smoothies in the trash if you don’t-” Right on cue, the sound of Ian’s vibrating phone could be heard loud and clear from Tyler’s jeans. He gasped loudly into Dylan’s mouth, and Dylan looked playfully into his boyfriend’s eyes before reaching into his pants and retrieving Ian’s phone. He placed it on the counter, and flipped a bowl upside down to place over it.

“There, your phone is safe. First question…” “Did you meet him? What’s he like?” Tyler was already fixated on the conversation, as if the previous minute hadn’t happened. “Who are you talking about? That asshole executive I met at Vespertine?” Dylan gave Tyler an unmistakable told-you-so look, and Tyler shrugged in defeat. “Sure, Ian, let’s start there. Tell Tyler and I about your dinner at Vespertine that ended like this…” He pulled out his own phone, already prepared with a loaded and buffered video from TMZ.

Ian cringed as he watched himself walk closer to the screen, and announce “That I’m gay? Yep. You heard right.” Ian’s phone buzzed continuously under the bowl secured under Dylan’s arm. He hadn’t had his phone on for the past 12 hours; he could only imagine how many people had been trying to get ahold of him, let alone the social media notifications he was bound to be swamped in after a video like that made its rounds.

The image of himself onscreen exhaled a cloud of smoke, and turned his head so that he was looking himself in the eye. “I’m gay. I LIKE fucking men, and I’m really fucking good at it. And unlike that coward in there, I’m not ashamed to admit it.” He flipped off the camera, and walked away.

“Okay, first of all, Ian, we are SO PROUD of you. You know that, right?” Dylan smiled sincerely at him. Tyler leaned over the counter, “I’m fucking JEALOUS of you, Ian. How long, HOW LONG, have I been trying to out myself? Dylan and I practically dry hump each other in our interviews, and all it takes is one ‘leaked’ story about how I’m dating some mystery girl, and people buy into it. Just like that!”

Ian winced at the implication, “If you want to be out, just come out. If your rep is leaking more bullshit, just denounce it. Tell everyone you’re gay. And stop pretending to date girls just because they tell you to. You don’t see me with a beard on my arm, do you?” “Bitch, you’ve been out for less than a DAY. And I am SO MUCH GAYER than you are.” Ian huffed, smiling at his ridiculous friend. “Why, Tyler, you got a scorecard you wanna compare to mine?”

“Second, Ian, you need to dump your asshole manager. Chuck is the worst. I’m guessing that he set you up with another houseboy-owning closet case under the guise of a business meeting, right? Like last time?” The phone kept buzzing and buzzing away under his arm. Dylan shifted, moving all of his body weight onto it. “Third, I don’t know who this particular fuckboy is…” He held up a photo of Ian with last night’s almost-conquest from Faultline, “But your soon-to-be ex-manager is having a field day playing down the guy’s claims that he was blowing you in the bathroom in front of everyone. How drunk were you?”

“He didn’t blow me… he wouldn’t shut up long enough to try. And we weren’t doing stuff outside of the stall or anything, Jesus… what’s Chuck saying?” Dylan ignored the question with a smile as bright as they had worn the moment he stepped into the kitchen. “Fourth… Ian, you say you’ve had your phone off all night, right?” The three of them looked down at the vibrating bowl containing Ian’s cellphone. “Right. So, your phone’s been off, and you haven’t heard any… news of any sort?”

Tyler starting jumping up and down in place, squealing. Yes, squealing.

Ian sighed, dropping his head into his hand. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes. “How bad is it?”

“Ian, you know how you were saying they were trying to find a replacement for your old costar who’s in rehab now, the guy who played Johnson? …Have they told you who your new costar is?” Dylan already knew the answer to that. Had Ian heard the news, he would’ve tracked them down at Fubar and spent the entire night crying tears of joy into their shoulders.

“Nah,” Ian lifted his head up, eyeing his bouncing, peculiar roommate inquisitively. “Tyler, what the fuck?”

Dylan leaned forward, “Ian, take a look at my news feed.”

Ian read the screen, and reread it. He sat in his chair, stunned into silence. “That’s not real.”

[ ](https://ibb.co/cMZtmk)

Dylan read directly from the screen. “As of eight hours ago: ‘Mickey Milkovich joins cast of Santa Monica Slaughter for upcoming second season’”, he looked up at Ian to gauge his reaction before continuing, “…’Joins Ian Gallagher in smash AMC hit’…it continues on, if you want to read the article.”

He placed his phone on the counter in front of Ian, who didn’t move, didn’t even blink.

Tyler jumped into his lap, nearly knocking them both backwards onto the kitchen floor. “IAAAAAAANNNNN! You’re going to be working with Mickey Milkovich! You’re going to have to tell me all about his dick. I’m serious, I need details.”

As Ian looked at the vibrating bowl containing his phone, with what must be an endless number of messages to respond to, he couldn’t help but think…

…This was the best day of his entire life.


	2. I've Made Love to You a Thousand Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey meet for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://imgbb.com/)

 

The drive to the AMC office in Santa Monica was the longest Ian had ever experienced.

It had been a couple of days since his coming out in front of Vespertine, and this was his first business meeting since then.

After he’d acquiesced to return Chuck’s calls, he reluctantly accepted that Chuck may have had a few decent points:

“-And I got him to agree not to press charges on you for attacking him- in plain sight of multiple witnesses, I might add, and I now owe him several large favors. This is because of you, Ian. Do you understand how close you came to watching your whole career get railroaded in front of your own eyes?”

To be fair, Ian hadn’t exactly planned on getting out of that mess with his job intact.

“And I don’t know if you’re aware, Ian Gallagher, but men get arrested for having sex in bathroom stalls all that time. You are not immune because you are famous, okay? I have your best interests at heart, here, Ian.”

Not that he’d gotten to do much of anything that night, but if you read it on the internet, it must be true, right?

Ian sighed and looked out the window as he approached the lot. He was being unfair; he hadn’t told Chuck any information at all; he has had too many conversations with Chuck over the years he’d been in Ian’s employ regarding Ian’s personal control over his own image, and he was tired of talking about it.

It was because Chuck had swooped in and saved the day that Ian decided to keep him on- for the time being. They’d be able to talk more after their meeting with the showrunners today.

Chuck may not be willing to listen all too often, but he seemed to have his best interests at heart. He kept him safe and employed… so far.

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

As he was escorted into the conference room, he was met with a long, empty table save for one occupant sitting quietly at the corner, engrossed in her phone.

“Jenny?” He walked over towards his head writer, a petite blonde in her 40s. She looked up with a grin, and bounded out of her chair, prancing towards the tall redhead.

“Ian!” She jumped up into his open arms, and hugged him tight, kissing him on the cheek. “Congratulations, baby! I’m so proud of you!”

He smiled down at her, forgetting his surroundings. “Proud of what?”

“Your brave decision to make yourself public, Ian” a booming voice behind him announced. He turned around to find Don Fount, the executive producer of Santa Monica Slaughter, approaching him with several AMC studio suits. “We couldn’t be more pleased.”

He stared open mouthed at his boss, who smiled brightly back at him. “So, I’m… not here to get fired, am I?” A round of laughter followed. “Fired for what, Ian?”

It occurred to him that he had put his foot in his mouth; they couldn’t fire him for being gay, but the incidents with the men at Vespertine and Faultline were probably best left unspoken. One of the suits spoke up, “You’re giving our show a chance to reach out to the gay community, to connect to viewers we may not have had. And we here at AMC are dedicated to moving in the direction of progress.”

Jenny cleared her throat, requesting Ian’s attention. It was only now that he noticed her shirt, a plain black tee outstretched in her hands, pulled down so that he could read the writing down the front.

“What does it… ‘I LIKE fucking men, and I’m really fucking good at it.’… oh god, no, Jenny. You didn’t?” She flashed another effervescent grin, and turned around so that Ian could read the lettering on the back. “…’And unlike that coward in there, I’m not ashamed to wear it.’ Jesus Christ, Jenny. Seriously?” He laughed and shook his head. “You wear this in public?”

“Made one for everybody. It worked out, since most of us on the writing staff are straight women and gay men…. Mike said he’d wear one in solidarity.”

“Wow. I’ve never felt so… supported, ever. This is amazing. I mean, that’s the worst shirt I’ve ever seen, but you’re amazing. I love you, thank you for this.”

She beamed up at him, “Love you, too, Ian. And we all respect the fuck out of you, you should know that. All of the staff, and the crew, too.”

He felt Don’s hand on his back, directing him towards the table. “Let’s all have a seat, so we can get this meeting started.”

Ian was off in his own world, taking in his sudden good fortune. Talk about a sudden turn of events!

Jenny sat to his left, and he snickered again at her shirt. Just how many of those did she make, exactly? He wondered if he could get his roommates to wear them and take a group selfie, to commemorate his own personal milestone… he knew for sure that Tyler would love to have a shirt to keep for himself.

“As I’m sure you’ve heard, Ian, Russell Daniels has had to break his contract with the show to seek medical treatment.” Johnson. His character’s partner, Johnson, was last seen in a coma, so that Russell could enter long-term rehab. He needed it, and he was glad Russell made it out of his last bender alive.

“We’ve had to scramble to rewrite a lot of the storylines for this season, as we weren’t anticipating having to replace Russell. Fortunately for us, Mickey here has stepped in at the last minute, and has provided us with many new and exciting opportunities.”

His blood froze.

He slowly turned to his right, to find Mickey Milkovich sitting in the chair alongside him.

Mickey was turned slightly, facing Ian, taking him in. His blue eyes wandered up and down Ian’s body a few times, returning to linger on his eyes and lips.

"Very exciting." He tilted his head back, challenging Ian to break eye contact.

But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the blue ones he knew so well, the ones that followed him to sleep every night. That stared back at him from the center of the GQ magazine he had just picked up not long ago, hand slick with sweat and lube, daring him on.

Ian's mouth hung open, concentrating on breathing in, and breathing out.

As soon as his thought process returned to him, the first thing Ian felt was panic. _It's him. He's HERE. He's looking at me, and I'm not saying anything. They're all looking at me, waiting for me to respond. I can't speak. My voice doesn't work. My mouth can't move_. It was as if Ian was stuck, while time sped up around him. His heart was pounding fast. Too fast.

His anxiety spiked, and he started to sweat. He panted quietly, struggling to keep his nerves under control.

Mickey squinted, and leaned backwards in his chair. He swiveled until he was completely facing Ian, knees spread apart, and leaned his arms back behind his head, hands locking together.

Ian licked his lips and allowed his eyes to return the inspection; to trail slowly up and down Mickey's torso, pausing at the noticeable bulge in his lap. _If that’s how big it is when he’s *not* aroused…_ As if he could read Ian’s thoughts, Mickey's lopsided grin spread slowly across his face, his eyes half lidded.

"Ian, I would like for the two of you to get to know each other, to try to build a rapport. Your characters will form a more supportive bond with one another than yours did with Johnson, and I feel that that was largely because of Russell himself."

He'd never had any personal conflicts with his former costar, even though he had to admit that they'd never befriended one another.

"He didn't exactly make things easy for anyone on set, and it's important that we avoid any potential problem-causing factors this time around. I need for the audience to feel the camaraderie between your characters... Ian, why don't you spend some time showing Mickey around this week? I'm sure there's just as much to do and see here as there is New York, isn't that so, Ian?"

Ian giggled in response, and looked to his right to see an amused Mickey Milkovich still staring in his direction. Ian prepared to respond to Don's request, but interrupted himself by laughing harder. The entire scenario was too much, and Ian's delicate hold on reality was slipping.

"He just... ah ha ha HA, he's here! You're... _fuck_. It's just..." He erupted into a fit of giggles, and buried his face into both hands, hiding himself from what was now one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.

He heard one of the suits cough, and reply, "...Moving on, then. Let's discuss the new storyline changes, and what we can expect from the show this season..."

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

Before the meeting had ended, Don had the two of them exchange numbers, and agree to meet up for dinner. Ian told Mickey, while looking at the floor, that he could feel free to get ahold of him anytime. He was positive that he didn’t drool once the entire meeting.

Ian hurried out to his car, and took the first deep breath he'd been able to since the man of his dreams materialized in front of him.

His hands were still shaking on the wheel, so he kept his car in park, and pulled out his phone. Even if his friends were home, which he doubted, he still figured he could use some calming down sooner than later.

Ian opened his contacts list and clicked on the “Roommates” category to start a group chat.

**Ian: Hey guys, I need your advice…**

**Tyler: Relax every muscle in your throat. Pretend it’s not even there.**

**Ian: -_-**

**Dylan: What’s up?**

**Ian: It’s about Mickey. Um… do you think that he’s straight, or do you think that he might also be into guys?**

**Dylan: Since we’ve never met him in person, it’d be hard to say.**

**Darren: Mickey who? Mickey Milkovich?**

**Greg: I’d fuck him.**

**Darren: He is STRAIGHT. He’s been with the same chick for years. I’ve never heard otherwise**

**Darren: SORRY TO BURST YOUR BUBBLE**

**Dylan: …You invited Darren to this?**

**Darren: Sorry we can’t all live in the same warped universe as you do**

**Ian: Shit! I forgot to remove him from the group.**

****You have removed Darren from this chat.****

**Tyler: Mickey Milkovich loves dick, you guys. He has gayface in most of his press photos. How do you not see it?**

**Ian: Gayface?**

**Tyler: You know that one movie he did with Angelina Jolie, where he went to Paris and she was French but spoke really good English, and he was secretly this serial killer but she didn’t know it, and she fell in love with him, and then by the end of the movie it turns out she’s been a killer since she was a teenager and then they’re both in love and they just go out into the world killing people?**

**Greg: #relationshipgoals**

**Tyler: And, like… the police are all really bad with guns in France, because they missed 100% of the shots they took? You know what movie I’m talking about?**

**Greg: Killer Kinks?**

**Tyler: Not Killer Kinks, you’re thinking of that movie with the guy who plays Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory.**

**Ian: Bare Annihilation.**

**Tyler: Bare Annihilation! That’s what it was. Yeah…. He had total gayface in that movie.**

**Greg: Are you sure it’s not the hair you’re thinking of?**

**Tyler: The hair just made his face *more* gay.**

**Nick: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Bare Annihilation? What the fuck?!?**

**Greg: I love his fluffball hair in that movie. Nick: Were they running around naked, just… killing people while they’re naked?**

**Ian: …This was a mistake.**

**Nick: Holy fucking GOD, I need to watch that movie.**

**Greg: His character was supposedly straight, but I just spent the whole movie being really proud of Angelina’s character for managing to bang a hot gay dude the whole time.**

**Ian: …I deserved this.**

**Greg: I’d never had a “spirit animal” until that moment, but she became mine. I finally understood all the Angelina Jolie hype.**

**Tyler: I was jealous as fuck. She got to ride that gay dick, but the rest of us can’t?**

**Nick: Ian’s about to.**

**Ian: Please forget this conversation ever happened.**

**Dylan: Ian, you know you could’ve just called me about this, right?**

 

Ian exited the chat, and Googled “Mickey Milkovich girlfriend”. Sure, he’d seen photos of them before, but now that he was specifically searching for it, he found all of the answers he had never wanted. Links to articles about their love life, tabloid headlines about their raucous sexual adventures, and a never ending series of photos of them together- his arm wrapped around her side, the two of them beaming at the cameras.

“Svetlana Lychnikoff.”

One photo stood out amongst the rest: His girlfriend, who was so good-looking she could easily be a stand in for Gisele Bundchen, was pressed up chest-to-chest with Mickey, hand cradling his face, looking seductively over her shoulder. Her confidence radiated through the picture, and Mickey looked so happy to be with her that his eyes sparkled.

Just as Ian was getting lost in the image, a text chimed in:

**Mickey : You wanna just meet up at your place at 7?**

His fingers hovered over the keypad. _Get it together, Ian. You can do this._

**Mickey: From what I recall, you’ve got some things to show me…**

**Mickey: Something I can see… something I can do. That right, Gallagher?**

 

_…Fuck._

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

 

[ ](https://ibb.co/dsx0da)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You: Hey, Nicrenkel? ...Did you just jack the movie cover from Bad Boys?
> 
> Me: Absolutely, I did! And from Speed, as well. I was going for a mid-'90s, continuous explosion sort of look. And since the fictional movie Infinite Overkill was brought to you by Michael Bay and Jerry Bruckheimer, explosions should be the first thing to expect. :v
> 
> But let's focus on the bigger issue, here: Ian completely ignored the fact that Ryan Gosling(!) was in this movie, and only saw Mickey, and jerked off to Mickey and Mickey alone. That... that is devotion.


	3. Come On Do the Jerk

“Am I reading too much into this?” Ian paced his bedroom floor, mind racing. “You would tell me if this is just me, right? Am I kidding myself?”

“Maybe you should have him blow you first, and then ask him his thoughts on the matter.” Lip chuckled, and took a deep inhale from his cigarette. “That’s the only way to be sure, you know.”

“You sound just like Tyler.” Ian smiled. “I can’t risk offending the guy, and then spend the next eight weeks working side by side with him. I don’t want him to hate me.”

“Eight weeks? That seems short.”

“Well, it’s AMC. They film eight episodes, air them immediately after filming wraps, we get a break in the middle, and then we shoot and air the next eight.”

“Is that how they do it with all of their shows?”

“With ours, they do.”

Lip laughed, and Ian could just picture the envious smile on his older brother’s face. “And then you get to just hang around and essentially be on vacation until whenever you feel like doing it all again. Rough line of work, man. Sounds shitty.”

Ian rolled his eyes, “Well, no worries, I’m still not 100% sure I have much of a career left after this role. For all you know, I’ll be on a plane back to the Southside before next summer.”

Lip sighed deeply. “Ian, STOP. No more beating yourself up over this. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? That rich asshole deserved what he had coming. And yeah, maybe some over-sensitive prick is gonna give you a hard time down the road for not bowing down to their fucked-up hierarchical system, but you know what? Fuck ‘em. We’ll fight them every step of the way. You’re strong, Ian. You’ve got this.”

He paused, and his voice faltered, “I’m just saying, worst case scenario, you don’t end up working for people like that anymore.” He sounded sincere when he added, “We love you, Ian, and we just want you to be happy. You shouldn’t be worrying about this so much. Just take it one day at a time, you know?”

Ian stopped pacing. “Fuck. You’re right. I’m just making myself miserable.”

“Exactly. And right now, you get to turn a straight guy gay with the power of your dick. You’ve got a lot going for you. Focus on the positives.”

“You know what’s not funny? You. Ever.”

“Okay, look at it like this… To master the art of the book report, you just take any novel, no matter when it was written, and you argue that the main character is a latent homosexual. Try applying that idea to your personal life and see what happens.”

“…Are you fucking with me?”

“Name a single time I’ve let you down. I’m the only thing that passes for a responsible adult that you’re gonna find.”

Ian sat down on his bed, grinning ear to ear. “I miss our talks. You should come visit me sometime. I miss you guys.”

“As soon as a get a moment of free time, Ian, I promise. Right now I can barely get a chance to sleep, let alone take a vacation.”

“Okay”. He flopped backwards, sprawling out onto his soft comforter. “Hey, I’m gonna lay down for a while, try and take a nap or something. Calm my nerves.”

“Alright, man, keep me posted, okay? And Ian, listen… Great things don’t happen in tiny little increments. They happen when someone thinks completely differently. You’re more than just a gay celebrity, you know? There’s a hell of a lot more to you than that.”

“Thanks, Lip.” He gazed softly at his brother’s contact photo until the call was ended. Tossing the phone to the side, he backed up until his head was resting on his pillows. The nervous energy hadn’t left him, but at least it had shifted from panic to anticipation.

He looked to his left, and found his newly purchased GQ magazine sitting on the nightstand. He pulled it towards him, and slowly flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

Mickey sat in the backseat of an old car, wearing a white t-shirt that showed off his biceps, and tight blue jeans, his hand resting over his crotch. Mickey’s leg was propped up in front of him, and Ian wondered just how much Mickey was packing to have to sit like that. It was Ian’s most comfortable sitting position, and he was fully aware of the factors at play.

His eyes drifted to the quote on the left page. “The action’s gotta be real. It’s gotta be gritty, maybe even dirty.” Ian considered the double entendre, “What I wouldn’t give…”

He reached for the lube, and stared at Mickey’s blue eyes, full of mischief, smirking as if he could see the desire he was inspiring in Ian. Unbuttoning his pants, Ian couldn’t help but laugh at the irony that Mickey was going to be the one to help take the edge off, albeit unknowingly.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When he woke up, he reached for his phone to check the time. 5:00 pm. He sighed with relief. There was still time to prepare.

He pushed the magazine aside, and fished around for the bottle of lube that had somehow lodged itself under Ian’s back.

Scanning the contents of his closet, he picked out a pair of dark jeans to pair with his gray shirt. Stepping into his bathroom, he ran his fingers through his hair, deciding it looked passable. He brushed his teeth, because who knew how close in proximity they’d be? It was common courtesy, he reasoned with himself. What if they went somewhere loud, and had to lean in close to hear each other?

He shook his head clear of the ensuing thoughts, and finished getting ready for his night.

Stepping out into the kitchen, he found Greg and his friend Tom on the couch, watching Netflix. “Oh, Ian! I’m glad you’re here.” Tom was a good acquaintance of Ian’s through local events and premieres, but had been a lifelong friend of Greg’s. They were practically from the same hometown.

He turned around and leaned against the back of the couch. “My agent Gail made me promise I’d give you her card. She’s dying to represent you.”

“Would this be the same agent that plucked your new franchise out of thin air and handed it to you on a silver platter? If so, I’m there.” Ian grabbed a bottle of water, and headed towards the couch to join them.

“Seriously, Ian, I can’t stress to people enough how crazy that was for me. I’d gone from stage to this iconic role, and have at least three blockbuster movies lined up for the next five years. It’s maddening, and it’s absolutely because of Gail. She’s a powerhouse.” He extended a business card towards him, and held his enlivened expression. “She said you’d be an easy sell. Apparently, you’re the next big thing!”

“Me? Really?” He examined the card, “I mean, it’s not like you had to twist my arm or anything. Hell, I’d steal your entire team, if I could.” He hesitated before asking, “Can someone just have an agent, and not a manager or anything?”

Greg leaned in conspiratorially, “Honestly, I think that an agent could do all of the above, really. Find roles, manage meetings, act as a publicist…” He hastened, “Find the right one, and they’ll be all the team you need.”

Ian nodded, holding the card in his hand with careful inspection before slipping it into his back pocket and turning to face the tv. “So, Breaking Bad, huh? This is one of my favorites.” He tilted back into the cushion of his chair. “I still can’t believe I get to work with the same network that made this classic.”

“Your show sort of has a Walking Dead vibe to it, doesn’t it?” Tom queried. “I mean with all of the corpses and severed limbs…”

“Also AMC”, Ian nodded.

“And it’s kind of like Dexter, with the detectives trying to sort out where there all from, and who’s doing the killing? Your detectives have far more luck, though, don’t they?”

Ian laughed, “I know what you mean. And Dexter was made by Showtime.”

Greg cringed, “Can you imagine if Santa Monica Slaughter was made by Showtime? They’d build up great storylines and then tear them all to shreds, needlessly. It’s like the characters become different people overnight. That’s what they did with The L Word.”

“Yeah, I feel bad for the actors when that happens,” Ian shuddered, “Who knows what my character would be doing at this point if I were?”

They’d settled into another few episodes when they heard a knock at the door.

Ian jumped to his feet. “Oh SHIT. Uh, uh, fuck. He’s here. Okay. Um…” He looked down at his friends on the couch, wearing matching startled expressions. “Be cool, you guys.” He clenched his fists nervously and headed toward the front door.

He opened it to find Mickey reclined against the railing, elbows back onto the bar, looking even hotter than he had earlier. He’d changed into lighter, tighter jeans, and an equally tight black t-shirt. His hair was slicked back, and the musky scent of his cologne hit Ian instantly.

Ian gaped at the sight in front of him. Mickey was breathtaking.

“You gonna let me in, or are we gonna just stare at each other all night?”

Ian blushed deeply, and bit his tongue to keep from answering, “Why not both?”

He stepped aside and ushered Mickey in, discreetly leaning into his shoulder as he passed by, inhaling his scent. Mickey smelled as amazing as he looked.

“Nice place you got here. You live by yourself?”

“Nah, I’ve got four roommates.”

Right on cue, Tom popped up from the couch and bounded over.

“Oh wow! I didn’t know you were friends with Ian. It’s an honor to meet you! I saw you in Quadruple Punishment!”

Mickey smiled slyly at him. “I guess you must be one of Ian’s seven dwarves?”

Ian smirked. “This is my friend, Tom. And Greg…” he looked around the livingroom, “…uh, will be back out in a minute. Tom is in a pretty big action movie as well, now, right Tom?”

Tom nodded shyly. “Hey, congrats by the way! I heard you and your fiancée are having a baby! That’s incredible news!”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He slowly turned to face Ian, who’s eyes had grown to the size of saucers.

“Or, was that not you? My friend said the star of Quadruple Punishment was-“

“Ah, no. She ain’t pregnant. You’re thinking of the other guy.”

Ian looked from Mickey to Tom, and back. Mickey rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, she better not be.”

Ian stared at the floor. Tom, sensing his gaffe, tried to lessen the tension in the room. “I like your trainers.”

Another awkward pause followed. “Huh?” He followed Tom’s line of vision down to his shoes. “Oh. Thanks. Listen, I gotta piss. Where’s the can?”

Tom directed him towards the hall bathroom, and he and Ian waited in silence until he’d left the room.

“Shit, I offended him, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, Ian! I didn’t know…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ian buried his face in his hands. “I’m the only one fucking myself over here, to be honest.” He laughed into his palms.

“There’s someone in this one!” Mickey called out. Assuming that that was where Greg had wandered off to, Ian called out, “Just use the one in my room. All the way down the hall on the left. Bathroom’s next to the closet!”

“I can’t believe I didn’t tell you about any of this before,” Ian whispered to his friend. “He’s all I’ve been thinking about since I got home. And the last couple of hours we’ve spent hanging out, I could’ve filled you in on…”

Something in the back of Ian’s mind made him uneasy. A mild panic fell over him, as he retraced his steps. They’d watched television, and before that he’d gotten ready for his night out, and before that he’d napped, and before that…

He gasped in horror, and bolted towards his bedroom. He rushed in to find Mickey sitting on his bed, the GQ magazine in his lap, the bottle of lube sitting at his side where Ian had left it.

He casually flipped through the pages as if Ian weren’t frozen in shock in the doorway. “My blond phase, huh? I prefer black, but my agent tells me I gotta change it up sometimes, you know? They said that audiences think I look younger if I go blond once in a while, or whatever.”

He looked up at Ian, who was trying his best to be invisible, hoping that all of this was just a nightmare.

Mickey pressed on, “Prefer redheads, myself. They say redheads are trouble, right?” He tilted his head to the side, and stared on suggestively. “You gonna be trouble for me, Gallagher?”

Ian blinked.

When he got no response, he continued, “I can’t tell you how many times they had to have some dude pick up all those cards just to get the shot right. That shoot was fun as fuck. I wish I could have someone stand around picking up cards just so I can do that shit in front of people, you know?”

He continued looking up at the tall redhead, considering his next move. He smirked, and slowly lifted himself off of Ian’s bed. “You know, I was told earlier…” He approached Ian slowly, maintaining eye contact, “That you had some things for me to see, and do.” He stopped a few feet in front of Ian. “That you could show me a good time? Think you could show me a good time, Red?”

Ian lost himself in deep blue eyes and dropped his gaze repeatedly to Mickey’s lips, pouty and full. He licked his lips and gently tilted forward.

“Cause I am fucking starving. Where’s the nearest burger joint?”

It took Ian a moment to form words. “…You mean, like In ‘N’ Out burger?”

Mickey’s unamused stare ruled that option out.

“Nah, man, like a cheap diner. All greasy and shit. Preferably with beer. You got one of those around here?” There wasn’t a hint of flirtation in his tone, and the heat in his eyes had disappeared.

“Yeah, we can Google something-“

“Cool, meet you out at the car.” With that, Mickey strode confidently out of Ian’s room.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[](https://ibb.co/iB3wG5)  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ian cleared his throat and looked up from his menu. “I’ve never been here before… kinda reminds me of back home, actually. This was a good idea, Mickey.”

“Back home?” His eyes stayed fixed on the menu in front of him. “Where’s that?”

“Chicago. Southside, not the flashy part you see on tv.”

This caught Mickey’s attention. “No shit? I was born in Chicago. Some shithole, according to my mom. Needles in the front yard, can’t walk twenty feet without getting jacked. Drunk bastards passed out in the gutters.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my neighborhood.”

“Huh.” Mickey went back to studying his dinner options.

“How’d you end up in New York?”

Mickey bit his bottom lip. “I guess my dad was a real piece of work; said she didn’t know how bad he really was until she saw him smack my brothers around. I was just a baby, so they couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 years old. She tried to stop him, and he ended up beating the shit out of her. Didn’t know she was pregnant with my sister until she’d already run off.” He nudged his nose with his knuckle. “Never met him. Hope he’s fuckin’ dead.”

“So she took you and your brothers away to keep you safe?”

“Nah, just me. She wanted to bring them too, but she couldn’t. They weren’t hers.” He shifted uncomfortably. “She was the only mom they had, though. She shoulda.”

“You ever try to get in contact with any of your brothers?”

“And say what, remember that other kid your prick father had? The one you knew for like a minute? I wouldn’t know what the hell to even say to them.”

Ian nodded quietly as Mickey went on. “I can only imagine what my life would’ve been like growing up in a place like that. I mean, I still grew up poor and shit, but I was never afraid to go home. I never got beat, not by my mom anyway. Mandy and I were real fuckin’ lucky, you know? We had the best mom.” He trailed off, looking down at his fingernails.

A bubbly waitress showed up to take their order, and Ian took the opportunity to change the subject to something less weighty. “Have you found a place to stay here, or still shopping around for a home, or…?”

“We got a place in Calabasas a few years back. Come here a lot for filming, figured we might as well. Too fucking big, if you ask me. She wanted it real bad, though. Said some asshole from a reality show full of assholes was selling it for cheap.”

Ian pushed down the pang of heartache that arose, and joked, “Reality show full of assholes? That leaves far too many reality shows to choose from.” Mickey chuckled, and Ian continued, “So, your fiancée really likes the place, huh?”

“Svet? She’s just my girlfriend. Not engaged or nothin’. Fucking tabloids.”

Ian stared a beat too long, a move that didn’t go unnoticed by the blue eyed man in front of him.

Mickey’s head tilted slightly to the side, and resumed his slow smirk from earlier. “Got a real nice pool, though. Wet bar ain’t bad. Keep it stocked full of whiskey and orange juice. You should come see it sometime.”

“Whiskey and orange juice?”

Mickey’s expression turned heated, “You’d be surprised.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. I’m a whiskey and coke man, myself.”

“Come over and try it with me.” Ian felt a foot nudge against his own. “Nothing wrong with trying something new, right Red?” Mickey’s foot sidled up against Ian’s, pressed far too snug to be an accident.

Without thinking, Ian moved to close his other foot around Mickey’s, locking it in place. The rush of excitement that crept up on him was overwhelming.

“I’ve got chili cheese fries and a coke, and… an undercooked cheeseburger with curly fries?” The waitress scrunched her face, and shrugged. Mickey reached for his burger, smiling brightly at it. She sat his mug of Coors down in front of him.

Ian barely waited for the waitress to depart before blurting out, “I’m gay.”

Mickey almost choked on his food, and suppressed laughter into his balled fist. “You don’t say. Never woulda guessed. Thought you screaming about your dick was just for shits and giggles.”

“You saw that?”

“Ay, don’t get all bashful on me. I ain’t knocking you. Not everybody gets to blurt out how they fucking feel every minute. Good on you, man. Must have balls the size of my head.”

“And a huge dick to match.” It was like the words were tumbling out before Ian could stop them. Mickey didn’t seem fazed, just focused intently on his curly fries, smiled, and rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip.

“How’s that whole ‘being gay’ thing working out for you, anyway?”

“You know what? I’m surprised that people were so shocked by it.” He ignored Mickey’s derisive snort and elaborated, “I’ve spent the entire three years I’ve lived here going to gay clubs, not hiding or sneaking in through a back door—just waltzing right in through the front, and no one’s ever noticed! I wasn’t trying to hide it, I just never announced it. I’m surprised I never got snapped making out with some guy in the back seat of a cab.” Ian huffed a scornful laugh, “I’m sure I’ve given them a million opportunities.”

A brief second of annoyance flashed across Mickey’s face. He pulled his foot away, and fixated on his meal.

Ian rotated his glass nervously. “I just wanted to let you know in advance, if you didn’t already, just in case you felt uncomfortable with it or anything.” Ian had never apologized for being himself, but the last thing he wanted was for his idol to feel weary around him.

“Uncomfortable? Do I look like some kind of asshole to you?” He gestured outwardly with his hands. “You think I’m scared to take you out to dinner? The fuck should I care what anyone else thinks?”

Ian’s cheeks flushed pink. “If they’re gonna hate on me just for bein’ friends with a gay dude, they can go fuck themselves, right?”

Oh.

“No worries, man. I’m not, uh, homophobic or whatever. We’re good.”

Ian nodded sipped his Coke slowly, not having the faintest idea what to say.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

An hour later, Ian had found Mickey to be an enjoyable conversationalist. He felt at ease, a stark difference from how he had felt about Mickey before concluding that Mickey was straight. They’d covered several topics: Ian’s siblings, Mickey’s tales from various sets, Ian’s previous roles (including a vampire heartthrob high school student), their dream super hero roles, Mickey’s encounters with aggressive paparazzi (and spending a night in jail after knocking an especially combative cameraman out cold), and how Ian’s roommates came to be his roommates.

Ian was just about to ask Mickey how it was they managed to snag him as SMS’s newest cast member when Mickey’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, and tilted it towards Ian as if to ask if Ian minded.

“Sure, go ahead.” He smiled and nodded.

Mickey accepted the call. “Mandy, what the fuck happened? …Bullshit, you never call me unless it’s important. …Oh, okay, you’re crying because everything is fine. Was it him? Did he hit you? …Jesus, fine, tell me what he _did_ do, then.”

Ian could hear unintelligible sobbing through the phone. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the voice sounded fragile, and Mickey’s eyebrows kept raising higher and higher.

“Uh huh… well, you make sure he doesn’t leave town, and I’ll be there to see him real fuckin’ soon. I’ll hop the first plane available. …I know I don’t have to… yeah… You think so? Try and fucking stop me.”

He ended the call and looked fondly at Ian. “Well, this isn’t how I planned on tonight ending, but I’ve gotta head to the airport. Spending some time in New York, doin’ some dental work.” Mickey kept tapping his fingers against his phone as he talked. “You and me, we'll have to get together again real soon, huh?”

Ian smiled jovially. “Sure, Mick. Definitely.” They stood up, and Mickey threw a $100 on the table, waiting for Ian to join his side as they headed for the door.

“I’m guessing you’ll need a ride to the airport?”

“I’ve got an Uber due here in a minute. Thanks, though. Wish we could’ve stretched the night out longer, you know?”

They shared a cigarette until Mickey’s ride showed up. Mickey looked over both shoulders before stepping towards Ian purposefully. “But seriously, Ian…” He cupped one hand against the side of Ian’s face, stroking his cheek lightly with his thumb. “I had a great time with you.”

Ian swallowed the lump in his throat. He remained still as Mickey stepped even closer and wrapped the other hand around Ian’s head, fingers feathering through his hair, softly pulling his face down to meet Mickey’s. Their foreheads touched, and Mickey stared up into Ian’s eyes as he murmured, “And you…”

Their lips were so close, they grazed against each other, sparking the electricity between them. Ian could almost taste the beer on Mickey’s lips.

“…Are so easy to fuck with.” He patted Ian’s cheek, and spun around on his heels towards the car.

After he’d hopped into the backseat and announced, “LAX!” to the driver, Mickey paused and called out to Ian, “See you Monday, Firecrotch. Make good use of that magazine while I’m gone.” He licked his lips as he gave Ian one last once-over, and closed the door.

Ian stood in place and watched the cab head off into traffic, whisking Mickey off into the night.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[](https://ibb.co/nFZs3k)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote from Mickey's GQ article was a real life quote from Noel Fisher, regarding Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.


	4. If You Can Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I had so much fun with the idea of Mickey Milkovich hosting Saturday Night Live, that I decided to post all of the "episode stills" throughout the chapter. They don't relate to the accompanying paragraphs; I just didn't want to exclude any. :D

By the time Tyler and Dylan came back from their weekend spent promoting the new season of their show, Ian was sprawled out on the couch, staring intently at the show he was watching on Hulu.

“Ian, you should’ve come with us! You missed all the fun!” It’d been awhile since his 7-episode stint as their co-star, but fans of his character were still vocal, still campaigning Mtv to bring him back on for another season.

Tyler flung himself backwards over the couch so that his face was upside down next to Ian’s. “We almost got arrested! Don’t worry, it was just sex-related stuff.”

Ian peered into the kitchen to make eye contact with a blushing Dylan. “You guys make me proud. I just want you to know that.” Dylan laughed and brought three beers into the room and sat down next to Ian.

“So, what’re we watching?” Tyler flipped around and hopped over the couch, settling into Dylan’s lap. “Saturday Night Live?” Dylan nodded in approval. “I’ve loved that show since I was a kid. Haven’t seen much of the last season, though. I need to catch up. Mind if Tyler and I binge watch with you? I’ve got the whole night free.”

“Not really binging, just watching this one episode.” Ian sipped casually at his beer, sprawling out on the long sectional.

Dylan leaned in to look at the episode title, searching for the name of that week’s host. He fixated on the image above the title, and smiled at Ian, trying to look sympathetic. “Greg told us about your date…”

Tyler interjected, “Next time he kisses you and then tells you he’s just fucking with you, grab him by the dick and kiss him back. It’ll solve all of your problems.” Dylan looked up adoringly at his boyfriend. “I’ve heard worse advice, honestly. Ian, keep that in mind for the next date.”

Ian huffed. “Next date… the only thing that’s changed between then and now is that now I’m confused, nervous AND horny as fuck. It’s like he barely has to try and he’s got me in the palm of his hand.” Ian laughed and muttered ‘Palm of his hand’ to himself. “I’m trying not to think about him at all, honestly. Just keeping a clear mind, you know? No worries.” He turned back towards the tv and downed the rest of his beer. “Did you know he knows two of the guys from this show? Like, he knew them from growing up in Staten Island. He went to high school with Pete Davidson!”

Tyler and Dylan slowly looked back at the flat screen. They silently agreed it’d be best to not comment any further, and watched the show in solidarity.

 

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[ ](https://ibb.co/cXxCrG)

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Monday morning found Ian on familiar turf. It’d been six months since he’d been on the AMC lot for Santa Monica Slaughter, and he’d missed it. He longed to catch up with his friends, and goof around on set as they had before. With the exception of the previous headliner Russell Daniels, the cast had been a tight knit one.

He hesitated outside the large staff room, where they’d be running through their lines for the first episode. He peered around the doorframe, and found several cast members chatting with writers and the director. Don Fount, the executive producer, was hunched over one of the female writers, laughing and gesturing his way through what appeared to be a long-winded story.

He didn’t spot Mickey amongst the crowd, and a thought popped into his mind. He doubled back towards the trailers, and he stopped when he got to Mickey’s. It was right next to Ian’s, and he had planned on stopping by to see him during their lunch break; if he could talk with him now, with everyone else otherwise disposed, surely it would help settle his nerves before rehearsal began?

He could hear movement inside, and wondered what it was Mickey did to prepare for his days on a set. He imagined him inside smoking a cigarette, and instantly craved one for himself.

He approached the door, and his hand hovered over the handle. Reaching forward felt like pushing his hand through molasses. He took a step backwards and contemplated his thoughts.

_“And you…are so easy to fuck with.”_

Why pretend to be interested? He thought about the brief instant where Mickey’s lips touched his, holding back. Wanting to press them into Mickey’s, his arms yearning to wrap them around his waist, and run his fingers through long black hair.

_“Prefer redheads, myself.”_

The way he would drag his eyes up and down Ian’s torso; it was a look he had seen on countless patrons at Faultline. It was a look you couldn’t fake. Not the lingering heat behind it.

_“Well, this isn’t how I planned on tonight ending”_

Rubbing his foot against Ian’s under the table. The thrill that shot through him, knowing Mickey initiated it, knowing that he wasn’t pulling away.

_“You and me, we'll have to get together again real soon, huh?”_

…Fuck it.

Ian swung the door aside and stepped into the trailer. He turned to his left and came face to face with green eyes and a scowl. Svetlana crossed her arms and called over her shoulder, “Your Carrot boy barges in like he lives here.”

Mickey hurried over to join them. “Hey, Red. Knock much?” he asked cheerfully. The taller brunette didn’t share his jovial mood. “You are not important. You leave now.”

Mickey’s eyes widened, and darted to Ian. “Uh, what she meant was-“

“I say what I mean. You have urgent message? Go ahead. Speak.” They watched as Ian’s jaw lowered and lifted a few times before closing entirely.

Mickey gave his girlfriend a dirty look and stepped in front of her, placing his hand on Ian’s bicep. “Not a good time, man. We’ll talk later, alright?”

Ian nodded, and backed away towards the set before she could make any more observations.

 

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[ ](https://ibb.co/ndoABG)

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Ian hurried back to the staff room, and took a seat next to Amaya Alvarez, his co-star and love interest. She hadn’t noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around her shoulder and kiss her cheek. She gasped animatedly and swiveled her chair towards him. “Ian! Oh my god!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and squeezed him tight. “It’s so good to see you! God, it’s been too long.” Her clutch was rigid, and Ian got the distinct feeling that she was trembling.

He pulled back from the embrace, and took both of her hands in his. “What’s happening? Is it the meds?” She smiled politely, and nodded. “My doctor put me on a new combination. She said that it should keep the anxiety attacks at bay, but the side effects were so severe, that I’d need other meds to counteract them. So, if you see me shaking, please just ignore it.” She tittered self-consciously. “So embarrassing.” She tucked her long black curls behind her ear.

“But enough about me! Haha, I’m far more interested in what’s new with you!” As if suddenly remembering something, she gasped, and looked down in excitement. Ian followed her line of vision, and a familiar feeling rose in his chest. “No, Jesus, Amaya, no. No.”

He laughed heartily as she pointed at her black t-shirt with both hands, elbows outstretched, modeling it with pride. “Jenny passed these out to everyone. The crew got their own shirts, too!”

“I guess that’s what I get for talking to TMZ”, he smirked.

She wrung her hands together nervously, an unremitting trait Ian had noticed over time.

“I heard you got a good part in a movie with Adam Sandler?”

“Well, almost.” Her pink, pouty smile slipped for a fraction of a second. “They said they’re looking for someone sexier, more womanly. My manager told me I can get a breast enhancement done quickly enough that I can still make it through to the next round before they finalize casting. I still have time!”

His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “More womanly? What, you have to be bigger than a B cup before you’re considered sexy? The fuck kind of bullshit is that?” This wasn’t the first time Ian had expressed his disgust in the treatment of his female peers. “You’re beautiful! You’re sexy, and sweet, and you’re fucking talented. Fuck them for telling you otherwise.”

“It was Kim that said I should do it. She really thinks I have a chance! This could be a big break for me! She’s been managing me for so long, now. I really do trust that she has my best interests at heart.” She looked down at her hands. “I mean, I’m grateful that they’re offering me bigger roles, at this point. I’m 26. Women my age are being offered roles as mothers to teenagers…”

Ian eyed her in astonishment. Her tiny, petite frame was already slender as it was; he couldn’t imagine the physical discomfort that would come with being as top heavy as she was intending to become.

“But they really liked me, otherwise. I’ve got a good chance of securing it, I think. They said they wanted a really exotic actress, but one who could speak English well.”

“Exotic? Weren’t you born and raised in Portland?”

She giggled. “Yeah, but being this tan, with black hair and brown eyes… I’ll never be considered the All-American beauty, you know? I mean, they’re offering me a role where I won’t have to use a ‘heavy Latina accent’, and that’s so rare for me to get talk like I do every day.”

They glanced briefly in their executive producer’s direction, and looked away before anyone noticed the slight.

Ian considered the understated weight of their conversation, and got an idea. He pulled out his phone, and scrabbled around at the screen. He opened up the desired app, and reached his arm around his friend, pulling her in close to his side. “You look so beautiful today, I’m going to have to capture this moment in a selfie.”

Her expression blossomed, and she looked at Ian with the first genuine smile he had gotten from her all morning. She rested her arm on the back of his chair and tilted her head sideways to rest against his cheek. They smiled happily up at the camera, and right before he snapped a shot, he turned and placed a gentle kiss to her temple.

He tapped at his phone some more, and then placed it back in his pocket. A moment later, he heard a chime from Amaya’s phone. She opened her notification, reading aloud, “Reunited with this stunning angel today. It’s going to be a great season! @AmayaAlvarez #SantaMonicaSlaughter #AMC #mybeautifulbestie.” Her head tilted downward in an attempt to hide her blushing, and she said shyly, “Thank you, Ian.”

“Where’s my selfie?” Ian pivoted to see Hopper DeKamp sitting two chairs to his left, leaving only the empty chair with the placard “Mickey Milkovich as Will Larson” between them. The lumbering beefcake of a man was grinning wildly, and Amaya exclaimed joyfully in acknowledgement of his sudden presence.

“I know... here, Ian, catch!” He tossed Ian his phone, and scooped Amaya up in his arms, holding her as if he were carrying her across the threshold. She laughed gleefully. Ian opened up the camera app, and angled it upwards to include his face, Hopper’s wide frame, and the giggling woman snuggled into his hold. Grinning, he stuck out his tongue, and Hopper responded by scrunching up his face comically.

This was going to be a good one.

 

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[ ](https://ibb.co/cBkU5b)

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Mickey had shown up just in time to start the read-through. Everyone was professional, even Hopper, who was well known for breaking character to make jokes. Mickey took his role so seriously that no one noticed his foot nuzzled up against Ian’s, nor his hand on the inside of Ian’s thigh during their dramatic dialogue.

To Ian’s credit, he didn’t falter once, not even when Mickey licked his lips and trailed his fingers towards Ian’s crotch, when he knew all eyes would be on the redhead. Ian stared into Mickey’s eyes and delivered, “You’re underestimating our killer, Will. They’ve spread the severed limbs of a famous heiress across Hollywood Boulevard. They’re a lot bolder than you’re giving them credit for.”

Mickey used his free hand to mime smoking a cigarette, and countered, “It’s Larson. And _he_ ain’t just bold; he’s fuckin’ smart. We’re in front of the Chinese Theater... The Hollywood Walk of Fame? You know? Look at where he lined them up, next to the names in some of the stars. He’s created a goddamn puzzle.”

Ian cocked an eyebrow. “Okay, _Larson_ , how do you know it’s a he?”

Mickey pulled the imaginary cigarette from his lips and placed his concealed hand over Ian’s stiff bulge. “It’s fuckin’ always a he.”

 

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[ ](https://ibb.co/n5pTyw)

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As soon as they were finished, Don Fount whisked Mickey away to discuss some notes in private. Ian contemplated waiting around for a chance to talk with him alone, but instead took Amaya and Hopper up on their invitation to go out to lunch. They walked throughout the lot together, headed towards the front gate.

“I have a question…” They looked up at Hopper. “Like, if Sarah got someone pissed off and they decided to sue us, do you think I could convince their lawyers to just sue Sarah instead?”

“Your wife is getting you guys sued?”

“Shit, what happened?”

“Well… I mean, okay, say Sarah said some messed up shit to our nanny, and then I said a few things but I was just joking… I mean… we shouldn’t both get sued, right?”

Ian and Amaya looked at their costar dubiously.

“Cause like, I’d have my lawyers talk to their lawyers about it, except Sarah’s the one who hired the lawyers so I guess technically they’re her lawyers…”

He heard a loud car horn, followed by a woman calling his name. He looked up to find an older women (who looked alarmingly like Rosario Dawson’s character in Sin City) climbing out of the front seat of a purple Lamborghini Aventador SV Coupe. She smiled wide, flashing a million teeth and strode towards Ian confidently.

“Ian Gallagher. You’re need of new representation. Join me for lunch?”

Ian looked at his friends. “Am I in a movie right now?”

Hopper couldn’t peel his eyes away from the Lamborghini. “YOUR CAR LOOKS LIKE A SHARK!” His face was lit up, full of child-like wonder.

“Wait, are you Gail?” His mind raced back to a conversation he’d had with his friend the week prior, before his night out with Mickey, before all of his thoughts became muddled and distracted.

“Tom told you about me… that’s good. Ian, I’d like to make you as rich and successful as possible and I’d like to do it right away. You in?”

Small hands centered on his back, pushing him towards Gail’s car. “He’d love to. We’ll catch up later, Ian.”

Once Amaya had him stepping hurriedly into the passenger seat, she ducked her head through the open window and whispered, “I know who she is. Whatever she tells you to do, just say yes!” She tugged Hopper down the sidewalk with her before Ian had a chance to protest.

Gail climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. Ian had just one question.

“Why me?”

“Where to begin… well, your manager is hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt to men who’d like to chop off his hands and toss them into the Hollywood Reservoir, so you’re going to need someone who can be physically present for you.”

She looked at Ian, who stared back at her in horror. “Oh, I’m sure they’re not actually going to kill him. They’ll probably just heavily encourage him to take his head out of his ass. I’ve known the guy for years; he could use the advice.”

She took a sharp turn onto Olympic Blvd., and sped off.

 

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[ ](https://ibb.co/cphsQb)

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The Gaslight on Wilshire was a relaxed, no-frills bar with old-school décor and free popcorn. They picked the booth closest to the bar, and Gail flirted with the waitress who took their order. She added a Mai Tai for herself and two whiskey and cokes for Ian, who was impressed and a little disturbed by her precise knowledge on his preferences. “Not sure I want to know how you knew that,” he said, casually handing over the menu.

She skimmed over his comment and leaned in close. “Ian, tell me what it is you want out of your career, and I’ll tell you how fast I can get it for you.”

“I… wow, I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before.” He took a moment, and breathed in deep. “Okay… I want to do more than just dramas. I’ve done teen dramas, independent dramas, been on shows with varying degrees of regard, and I’m grateful for it, but I can do so much more.” His cheeks warmed with growing excitement. “I want to do it all, and I’ve been thinking a lot about branching into action films. Roles where I can do as many stunts as they’ll allow me to; where I can show off my physicality. I work out all the time; I’ve done kickboxing, Taekwondo, mixed martial arts… I can dance, I can snowboard, I can do acrobatics!” He spoke with increased fervor, and incorporated his hands the more passionate he became. “God, I think about this all the time. I want this, so fucking badly!”

“When you say ‘action films’, are we talking Bruce Willis, Keanu Reeves, or superhero franchises?”

“Any of them. All of them? Anything remotely like that, and I’d be happy. Just a start, a chance to prove myself is all I’m asking for.” He accepted his drinks from their waitress, who eyed Gail bashfully. “Jean Claude Van Damme was my hero, when I was a kid. I want to be able to do that, to make movies like his. Or like-“

_Don’t say Mickey Milkovich. Don’t say Mickey Milkovich._

“-Jason Statham.” Gail slowly lifted an eyebrow, a hint of a smile curling her upper lip. “I can handle the physical demands, I swear. I just… I want to branch out. I don’t want to be a niche actor who gets stuck playing the same roles for the rest of his life.”

He looked down, rotating his glass in circles on the tabletop. “I want to show people what I’m capable of. It’s so very frustrating when you know what you are capable of, but not given the opportunity to perform or express it. I’ve tried talking to Chuck about it so many times, and he’d shut me down without even considering it. He’d make excuses, but I know he wasn’t really listening to me. He didn’t respect me.” He hadn’t admitted that to himself until the words came pouring out on their own. “He never… he didn’t respect me at all. This whole time. Fuck, I’m such an idiot.”

“I can get you a sidekick deal with Marvel in six months tops, two if you’re okay with DC.”

“…What?”

“If you want a starring role, that’s going to be a bit trickier, but I’d say by ten months from now you could have a deal finalized. It helps that your show is in the top ten, and that you’ve got your boy co-starring. Your viewership is going to skyrocket… You’re bold, and that translates to a broadened sex appeal. You gave yourself your own media bump, and you’re trending steadily. Combine all of this with the fact that you’re about to hire me as your agent, and it’s as good as done.”

He eyed his whiskey for a long moment, then picked it up and downed the first glass.

“Do you really think I could have a career like Tom does?”

“You and Tom are completely different people. His trajectory is already set. Most managers will try to create an image for their client to play up to, based on what they think their target audience wants to see. That’s why people get bored of carbon copies. What I need for you to do is to be yourself. Authentically. I mean, whatever feels the closest to being Ian Gallagher, that’s what we’re working with now. Fuck anything and everything Chuck has ever said to you.”

Ian’s chest swelled with a pride he wasn’t yet sure he could trust. “Be myself? I don’t think anyone has said that to me since I left Chicago, except for my older siblings.”

He sipped at his second glass of whiskey, and decided to bite the bullet. “Look, I’m still not entirely sure this isn’t a prank, but… I’m all yours. I was yours from the moment Tom told me you knew who I was. Two of my good friends have already vouched for you, and your seeing what you did for Tom… Fuck, I don’t know how it is you see all of that in me, but I’m in. Holy shit, I can’t believe this is real. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m yours, sign me up!”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She flashed her mega-watt smile and raised her Mai Tai in the air. “Here’s to never letting anyone sell you out, Ian.”

He clinked his glass against hers, and covertly pinched his thigh under the table, just to be sure

 

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[ ](https://ibb.co/cc8tWG)

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The conversation had become more in depth and less formal as lunch went on. “Okay, so, on a scale of Anna Paquin to Taylor Swift, how gay are you?”

“Whaaaat? Taylor Swift isn’t a lesbian. She asked me out a few years back.”

“You don’t say?” She sipped her drink and waited for Ian to continue. “She had a role in a movie I was shooting, and she was flirting with me constantly. I mean, I didn’t spend much time with her, but we hung out and jammed a bit. She was cool. She was definitely hitting on me… what? Don’t laugh at me, I’m serious! She asked me to go to the Grammy’s as her date.”

“I’d take that as a compliment. You were still relatively new to L.A. back then, right? See, she saw potential in you, too.”

“But… I hadn’t even told anyone here that I was gay yet, except for a few close friends and my roommates, so why would she want to date me if she was a lesbian and thought that I was straight? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Ian, you don’t have to be gay to be Taylor Swift’s boyfriend… you just have to be willing.”

“If she’s a lesbian and not just bi or whatever, then… what about all those guys she dated?”

“Yeah… I’ll bet you anything that, when she does end up coming out, she’ll just go with “sexually fluid”, that way she doesn’t have to address any of it. Too many people think she’s fake as it is; she can’t afford to take that big a hit. Not when her whole career was based on those ‘relationships’. Not worth it.”

Ian chewed his jalapeno popper slowly, deep in thought. “Have you heard anything about me?”

“You crack me up, Ian. I knew I liked you.”

“I know you know things about me, but… is there anything bad out there I should know about? I don’t read celebrity gossip or tabloids or whatever.”

“That’s because tabloids are packed full of fake stories made up by someone’s PR team to promote whichever story they want associated with their client at the moment. Most of it’s not even real. It’s made to look scandalous to sell copies.” She finished her drink and waved their waitress over. “If you want _actual_ celebrity gossip, just read the blinds.”

“Blinds?”

“Blind items. When people don’t want to get sued by spilling the details of what some actor’s been up to, they just report it to a blind item sight. I know, I know, the internet- how trustworthy can it be? I get it. But it goes like this, Ian: I know all of this stuff right off the bat because I have fantastic sources. Then, said item gets reported to a blind item site. More often than not, this stuff ends up coming out publicly. I’m not saying 100% of it’s true, but… the sources usually end up being right.”

She ordered another whiskey for Ian, and got their waitresses’ phone number. Ian shook his head, becoming admittedly more and more impressed with his new confidante.

“You don’t get put up in blinds much. Nothing bad. But they cover a whole spectrum. Sure, they out closeted gays, but it’s more because people just want to know who they’re fucking. But they report on straight actors just as much, especially if they’re cheating on a significant other. _Especially_ if it’s with a costar.”

Ian willed himself to maintain eye contact, and not let himself drift into thoughts of his own costar; the things he would do if given the chance… how easily could those things become public knowledge?

How badly did he _want_ those things to become public?

“And more than just that; you’ll find all sorts of info there, on just about anyone. I never learn anything new, but I check once in a while to protect my clients. If a studio looks away while someone on their set is molesting kids, then I don’t send my minor clients on those auditions. Same goes for women; I’m not about to send them over to someone who has to drug them to get them onto the casting couch.”

Ian pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. “Jesus… doesn’t anyone report those people? How do they still have jobs?”

Gail looked away, before continuing, “And I don’t know much about your boy. Not past the usual shit his publicist tells everyone. A few stints in juvie, but nothing major. Whatever secrets he may have, he’s damn good at keeping them private.” She turned back to Ian. “Say what’s on your mind before it implodes.”

“You know, that’s pretty creepy that you can read my mind like that. Really fucking creepy.”

She gazed at Ian dreamily. “I love having the ability to scare a man senseless.” She laughed, and the mood shifted to something more lighthearted. “Ian, I need you to know that you can trust me. I’m not going to tell anyone the things we discuss. Think of my services extending to that of a lawyer… or therapist!”

“Shit… look, I’ve been driving myself crazy with this. He has a girlfriend, who he’s been with for years! And he’s all over me, and I can’t get him out of my head. You keep calling him my boy, but we haven’t done anything yet; he grabs my junk and I sit there like an idiot. If it were anyone else, I’d have fucked him and moved on, but I can’t do that with Mickey… he’s the reason I wanted to be an actor. He’s the reason I got my shit together and left Chicago. I’m finally out, and he wants to fuck me, but I have no idea what’s going to happen past that. If he goes home to his girlfriend and pretends nothing happened, will he avoid me for the rest of filming? She fucking scares me… and he’s not even out of the closet. Fuck.”

“So, you haven’t banged him yet? Huh.” For the first time, she looked stumped. “I know I said he’s not in any blind I’ve ever read, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture of him and thought ‘Now there’s a man that man loves himself some vag’. Ever. Not even once.”

Ian flinched at the thought. “Ian, you’re over thinking this. This man is the hot A-lister of your dreams. Just talk to him. No, really. Walk right up to him and say all of this shit to him. I can’t tell you how many people have built up their own problems just because they’re afraid to say something to someone’s face. This isn’t you, Ian. Tell him what you want, today. _Be bold_. Make it count.”

Her words started to sink in. “And if you get tongue-tied around him, remember that you’re a fucking actor. Act confident until you feel it. I mean, you’ll regret it if you don’t try. I’m strictly kittly, but for Mickey Milkovich? Damn…” She reclined back and arched an eyebrow. “…I’d peg him.”

Ian pressed the back of his fist against his mouth to keep from spitting out his drink. “Hahaha! That is NOT what I was expecting you to say.”

Movement on the stage to his right caught their attention. “Ooh, perfect timing. Ian, they’re about to get started with the karaoke. You love to sing, right?”

“You- you brought me here because you knew they’d have karaoke, didn’t you?”

“What are you going to sing for me?”

“You tell me.”

“Hmm… you love early ‘90s music, but lean more towards alternative than grunge… let’s go with Sublime.”

“Alright, but I’m picking the song you’re singing for me, next.”

“Or I’ll just buy you another whiskey.”

“Sold!”

 

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[ ](https://ibb.co/fuuvdw)

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Ian sat in his trailer, engrossed in his phone. He thought of how exactly to enter in what it was he wanted to search for. He tapped the Google search bar, and his fingers hovered over the keypad.

Gail’s last words to him as he exited her car echoed in his mind.

_“Make sure your friend- that giant, good-looking one, gets a good lawyer. His wife’s been talking to divorce lawyers for weeks.”_

_“You mean Hopper?”_

_“She may not go through with it, but it’s better to be prepared...”_

He tapped in “ **Hopper DeKamp Sarah nanny** ” hoping that nothing would come up. Sure enough, links to several sites popped up, filling in the blanks from Hopper’s conversation earlier that afternoon.

“ **Santa Monica Slaughter co-star Hopper DeKamp ‘Berated Muslim nanny when she prayed in his home while his wife forced her to look at penis pics of the A-list actor she was having an affair with’ claims lawsuit**.”

_Jesu_ s. He clicked on the first link, which continued in further detail, “ **…claiming that the actress joked that the nanny should get in shape so that she could ‘run off’ with DeKamp”, “…in addition to hearing stories about how 'sore' the actress allegedly was because of her famed paramour, she was also made to look at photos of the man's penis. She also allegedly told the nanny during one of the conversations that she was ready to 'move on with her life' and leave DeKamp.** ”

Ian clicked his phone screen shut, and tossed his phone onto the table. He had no idea how bad things had gotten for his friend, nor how long this fucked up situation had stretched out for. Making a mental note to take Hopper out for drinks and whatever attempts at advice he could muster, he reached for his phone to shoot him a text.

He paused at the sound of knocking on his trailer door. Before he could answer, the door opened and shut. He looked up to see who had joined him.

Mickey cleared his throat, and shoved his hands in his back pockets. He tilted his head back, and stared down Ian with half lidded eyes. “Finally got you alone, Red.”

Ian jumped up out of his seat. “Mickey! Hey.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and both began to speak simultaneously.

“I was going to-“ “Earlier you wanted to…” They held eye contact, and Mickey smirked at the endearing moment, “So, now that I got you all to myself, what was so important you had to come barging into my trailer? Seemed pretty fucking urgent.” He puffed up his chest and spread his legs slowly outward, dragging one foot to the side.

Ian closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he let the words “ _Be bold_ ” roll through his mind.

He opened his eyes, and breathed out. He strode towards Mickey with intent, scooping him up with one arm and kissing him fiercely. He cupped his other hand softly around Mickey’s face, squeezing tighter around his side.

He caressed Mickey’s soft lips with his own, his torso pressing Mickey back into the closed door. He pulled back and looked down at Mickey’s closed eyes, his mouth parted. He fluttered his eyelashes open to stare back up at Ian.

“I want you. Do you want me?” Ian’s insistent tone make Mickey’s eyes widen, and Ian held him firmer in his embrace.

“Mickey, I’m gonna take you out on a date. A real fucking date. Spending time with you made me so fucking happy. Just hearing you talk, having you listen to me, getting to know you…” He felt a rambling prose coming on, and kept his words to the point, “You want that? You gonna let me take you out?”

Mickey nodded, and mouthed yes. Ian continued, “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long, but I want to do it right. I want to take my time pleasuring you, fucking you, showing you all of the things I’ve ever wanted to do to you. All of the millions of things I’ve done to you in my mind, I’m gonna unleash on you. You okay with that?”

Ian’s voice was getting more confident and domineering as he spoke, and Mickey swallowed hard before replying, “Damn, Gallagher, someone knock the bashful out of you? Yeah. Yeah I fucking want that.”

Mickey leaned in to kiss the redhead again, and Ian held him tight by his jaw. “Mickey, are you gay, or do you really have a girlfriend?” His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes peered uncertainly into green. “Wait, what? Seriously?”

Ian stroked his cheek with his thumb and leaned in as close as he could without kissing him again. “I don’t want to be anyone’s mistress. If you and your girlfriend have some sort of agreement, that’s your business, but I don’t want to share you with anyone. I want you to be all mine.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, his eyes getting wider and brighter. Ian braced himself for the _I just fucking met you_ s and the _Get the fuck away from me, psycho_ s that were to follow.

Instead, Mickey’s exterior bravado seemed to melt away all at once. “Really? Just like that? Shit. I thought I was going to have to really work for this one.” He was smiling and rambling aimlessly. “Just talking to me makes you happy? I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me. Holy shit. Ian fucking Gallagher wants to take me on a date.” He chuckled and wrapped his arms around Ian’s neck.

“Alright, Gingerbread, take me out, show me what you got…but not tonight, I got Svet’s shit to deal with at home.”

He recoiled under Ian’s glare, and quickly added, “And no, it ain’t like that. And don’t even put that shit into my head, okay? She’s family. That’s fucking gross.” Ian laughed hard at that, and wrapped Mickey up close to him.

Ian sighed as his forehead rested against Mickey’s. “I can’t believe this is my life. Never in my wildest dreams…” Mickey opened his eyes and said with as much innocence as he could manage, “I never thought jerkin’ it watching your skinny ass on this show was gonna get me a role one day. Fuck this worked out perfectly.”

Ian huffed, “Freak,” and Mickey grinned as he pulled him back in for another longer, deeper kiss.

 

. . . . . . . . . . . .

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

. . . . . . . . . . . .

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On an unrelated note, I'm just going to leave these here...
> 
> [](https://imgbb.com/)  
> Taylor Swift and Cameron Monaghan on the set of The Giver
> 
> [](https://imgbb.com/)  
> Taylor with Victoria's Secret model (and rumored girlfriend of three years) Karlie Kloss
> 
> [](https://ibb.co/kAdXQb)  
> An example of what happens when a blind item becomes public


	5. Sweet Harmony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “How the fuck do you write so many books so fast?” ~ George R. R. Martin to Stephen King, June 2016, Albequerque, NM
> 
> I hear you, George. Twelve years later, and I’ve finally completed Chapter 5. I think that it’s the stories that are the most personal that take the longest to write, because of the need to make them as perfect as can be, hoping that they’ll come across exactly the way you intended for them to.
> 
> That said, I’m planning on keeping these chapters shorter, in the future. This chapter length rivals the last one shot that I posted (this one is 25 pages long).

“You’ve got ten more minutes, c’mon…” Ian ran his hand through dark locks and squeezed Mickey’s ass as he bit down on his neck. His heart was pounding in his chest, the thrill of touching this man just short of overwhelming.

It was Friday, several days gone by spent grabbing and kissing and pawing at each other in Ian’s trailer. Always hot and quick to escalate, but never for very long. They had yet to make it past groping. Every time Ian’s fingers softly dragged their way towards Mickey’s waistline, he’d push against Ian’s hand insistently, leaving his zipper intact.

“I got five, and watch the biting, Queen of the Damned.” Mickey grabbed Ian’s hips and pressed against him, hard, rubbing their clothed groins together.

Ian moaned lowly, “You’re such a tease. You keep doing this to me on purpose.” Mickey looked up at him, propping up his eyebrows in innocence. “Doing what?” that ever-present smirk crawling across his cheeks.

Feeling Mickey’s efforts to stoke the competitor in him winning out, Ian grabbed him by the back of his thighs and carried him to the table, long legs carefully navigating the kitchenette of his trailer without bumping his paramour into any sharp corners.

He sat Mickey down on the table’s ledge abruptly, pulling him closer by the sides of his ribs, nosing into his neck amorously. “Just let me touch you, Mickey. I’ll get you off so fast, make you feel so good…” Ian got lost in Mickey’s scent, feeling at home surrounded in the brunet’s pheromones.

“You know we can’t man. Got people crawling around this lot.” He looked over his shoulder at the closed blinds behind the table, as if seeing the hypothetical crowd behind them, cameras ready and waiting.

“They’ll never know, Mick” Ian whispered, setting a mood of secrecy as he trailed kisses from Mickey’s neck down his chest and towards his stomach. “We’ll be real quiet.”

Mickey pushed downward at his tented crotch, de-escalating the ensuing scenario as best he could. “Nah, the last thing we need is some nosy fucking stragglers taking pictures of me panting and sweating on my way out.” He grinned at his redhead, and cupped his face. “We’ll get down to it soon, just not at work, okay?”

Ian figured it’d be best not to point out that if the crew has seen Mickey entering Ian’s trailer as frequently as he has been, with big grins and playful taps, then they’ve pretty much gotten the gist. He knew it wouldn’t alter anything to his favor anyway.

“What we got is between you and me, Ian. It’s none of their fuckin’ business what we do.” He kissed Ian passionately, and whispered in his ear, “I’ll let you pound the fuck outta me on our first date.” He leaped off the table, out of Ian’s grasp, and smirked, “Just got to keep it in your pants until tonight, Red.”

“How long’s this photo shoot gonna be, anyway?” Ian thought back to the hours and hours he and the rest of the cast had spent taking official cast photos and advertisement shots months before.

Mickey deadpanned, “However long it’s gotta be until they decide they like my face.” He stuck his tongue out through a wide grin filled with perfectly white teeth as he backed out of the door with chuckle.

As he opened the door to hurry away and leave Ian painfully erect, the younger man called out, “Isn’t this our second date?”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Dylan walked into the large Whole Foods building, shopping list in hand.

“You have an actual shopping list? Handwritten and everything? Haven’t seen one of those since I was a little kid.” Ian tilted his head back in fond memory. “My sister used to take me with her to carry all of the grocery bags, since we didn’t have a car back then. I was in charge of all the heavy lifting.”

“It’s from Tyler’s mom. She’s getting ready for Tyler’s sister’s quinceañera coming up, and she said she wants to teach me her recipe for chile en nogada. There’s a lot to it, so keep your fingers crossed that I won’t end up serving his sister a spicy charcoal briquette.”

“Wow, trusting you with the secret recipe? His mom must really like you, huh? It’s like you’re becoming part of the family.”

“Yeah” he said with a grin, “She said Tyler’s getting too skinny, so she wants me to be able to feed him with all of his favorites he’d be eating if he were still at home with her.”

Ian watched his friend beam at the implications. He was truly happy for them.

They’d begun their hunt in the wine and alcohol section, wrapping around itself with its endless varieties. As Ian wandered off to pick up his favorite bottle of whiskey, he remembered Mickey’s recommendation. “Hey, remind me to pick up some orange juice before we leave?” Dylan nodded as he browsed through the different brands of Sangria.

  
He almost bumped right into a short brunette woman in her mid-30s, wearing thick rimmed glasses, hair pulled back into a headband, and intricate sandals revealing brightly painted toenails. She was mid-struggle, grappling with the 7 or 8 bottles of vodka in her arms.

“Sorry, I—Heidi? Hey! Oh shit, let me help you with those!” He grabbed most of the bottles and placed them into his cart, running to grab a shopper’s basket from the end of the aisle.

“No, I’m sorry, Ian. I’m in such a rush; I just wasn’t thinking…” She sighed heavily. “Two years into being a personal assistant to a famous celebrity, and I still haven’t gotten my head on straight.”

He set her basket on the floor, and began transferring the bottles of vodka over. “So how’s it, uh…” He paused, looking at the copious amounts of liquor, knowing that none of them were for Heidi, “…going?”

She smiled politely. “It’s better. Better! She’s cut down a lot, since her arrest.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and hesitated. “Though I’m trying my best to stay out and about, you know? The further away from that house, the better.” Ian had heard the stories of the actress throwing random objects at her employees, firing nannies frequently, and making career-ending threats to business associates who told her no. He wasn’t one to peruse the tabloids in the checkout lanes, but every time he saw that actress on the cover, he thought of Heidi, and felt a little more thankful for the job he had.

“Is that Heidi?” Dylan called out as he approached. “I was hoping we’d see you, today!” He scooped her up into a hug, and she giggled, nervously adjusting the hem of her long flowing black shirt. “Missed you boys! Haven’t seen you around, lately. How’s Tyler? How’s the new season of Santa Monica Slaughter?”

The sound of several high-pitched squeals wove its way into their responses, and they looked up to find a small handful of teenagers were jumping up and down at the far end of the liquor aisle. They fumbled with their phones and held them aloft, some stifling themselves from crying.

Dylan’s face lit up. “Looks like we have some fans here, Ian.” He turned to find his friend shrinking behind Heidi, casually scrunching himself lower to try to meet her height. “I mean, uh, Ian who isn’t here right now.” Heidi laughed and Dylan winked at them. “I’ll be back in a minute, guys.”

He strolled over to the fans, waving cordially, and held himself in place while they attacked him with hugs, still jumping up and down, pulling them into jumping with them.

“Jesus, are they four years old? They have no consideration! How can they just do that to someone?” Ian hissed over Heidi’s shoulder. “He’s here minding his own business, trying to shop for groceries, when people just walk up and start touching him. They didn’t even ask if they could! What the hell is wrong with people?”

Heidi reached backwards and patted his cheek. “He doesn’t seem to mind it, Hon. Look at what a natural he is!” Dylan was posing for a series of selfies for each fan, with several thumbs up and silly facial expressions to go with each one. He didn’t seem to mind them clinging to him like a life support, and even put his arm around their shoulders and smiled earnestly. It was like nothing could phase him.

“Yeah, but how would you feel, though? If you were trying to live a private life, and total strangers walked up to you, started touching you without your permission, and demanded that you stop what you’re doing to answer a million questions? Nobody has any respect for other human beings. It’s like once you’re an actor, you’re owned by the public, and if you say you’d prefer not to be touched, then you’re suddenly a selfish asshole.”

Heidi turned around in concern. “Did something happen? Did somebody do something to you, that… has it gotten really bad, Ian?” Her expression was one of genuine concern. He shrugged, knowing what she was asking, and feeling a bit sheepish to admit the answer. “I mean, no, nobody’s groped me or stalked me or anything… but sometimes it really feels like they do. Fans can be so fucking creepy sometimes.”

The fans who had been glancing over to Ian throughout the duration of their interaction with Dylan had now started making their way over to where he was still slouched behind his friend. He could see their barely contained enthusiasm, seemingly waiting for his acknowledgement to explode with hyperactivity.

He knew there was no way out of this but to go through it. He stood up tall, plastered on his best congenial smile, and walked towards them. “Hey, guys!”

They screamed in unison, attracting the attention of what few shoppers had milled about, curious as to the source of the commotion. “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” Tears were streaming down their faces, some had hands covering their mouths, as if they were unable to cope with the shock.

He chuckled nervously. “Anyone want a selfie?” Dylan offered to take the photos for each of them, so that they’d be free to focus on meeting their idol.

"How's your day going so far?" he asked no one in specific. They took turns wrapping their arms around him, like he were a long lost friend returning from the abyss. He smiled politely, resting his hand gently on their upper backs.

Before the last picture was snapped, the questions began. "When do you start filming new episodes of your cop show?" "Do you know when this new season is going to air?" "I can't get AMC without paying for it; do you know where I can watch your show for free?"

These were the usual harmless questions, and he answered them calmly and politely. His concern of the moment became amplified when he noticed some of them whispering while glancing between him and Dylan.

"If you guys are both here… does that mean…” They looked amongst each other in confirmation before bursting into a rapid fire series of questions.

“Is Graham is coming back???"

"Are you coming back to Resisting the Urge?”

"I love Graham so much! He's my favorite character of ALL TIME! Why did they have to kill him off?”

“Why did they take my favorite character and make him so awful?”

“I feel so bad for you! You’re an incredible actor, and they turned your character into a giant douchebag! Are they going to fix it?”

“Why did he change so much at the end? I hate them for ruining Graham!”

Feeling the tension in his shoulders starting to build, Ian rotates them backwards a couple of times, tilting his head to the side.

“Come on, now. You can’t just keep a character in a one-dimensional box forever. Haven’t you ever heard of character growth? You know, like people get older and change? It’s almost as if they _evolve_ and _develop_ , or something.”

He wasn’t expecting his words to stun them into silence. Again, they looked to each other for confirmation before one girl spoke up, “I mean… your character didn’t evolve, though. He was a layered and multi-dimensional person to begin with, so loyal and loveable… and then one day he turned in all of his friends to the Assasin Unit for no reason. No one threatened him, forced him… they didn’t even bribe him. He just started making that evil face all the time, like that was the only tell they needed to show that he was suddenly a bad guy.”

“Okay… sure, but it’s a tv show, right? I mean, you must like it because you guys watch it, Right? You all seem like pretty big fans?” They nodded in unison. “So why not just have faith in the vision of the people who make the show what it is?”

The boy to her left spoke next, “I just felt like... they changed him in ways that weren't necessary. Like they were trying to make us not like him, in the end. Like retconning him was something they were doing on purpose."

Ian knew that engaging further was a bad idea, and that he should say his goodbyes and continue shopping. But as he felt his blood start to boil, a well of word vomit forced its way up his throat. “Why do you think you have more ownership over my character, over his story, than the writers? The creators? The performers? I mean, do you really think you should get to decide the fate of someone else’s story? I’m genuinely asking.”

He felt Dylan’s hand on his shoulder as the first girl responded, “Yes. Honestly, I think that if the people in charge of a storyline abandon it without care, and don’t even bother to follow the most basic of plot structures, then what’s the point? Why should they get to ruin great characters just because they can?”

More shoppers started to gather around, drawn in by the commotion. The girl continued, “And I do think that fans can do better, because we _care_. We pay attention to what obstacles built a character up to who they are, and their perspectives. We care about justice for the characters we love more than we care about continuity, and what they did to Graham was fucking bullshit.”

They looked up at Ian expectantly, like he’d be absurd not to agree with them. Dylan leaned forward to say something in Ian’s ear, when Ian shouted tersely, “I know this is going to go right over your heads, but storytelling is not sports. You don’t just cheer for one team and get all pissy if that team loses.”

He felt the hand leave his shoulder as his arm was lifted up and over Dylan’s head, and found himself being heaved abruptly over Dylan’s shoulder. He lifted his head and saw multiple cellphones held up in his direction as he was carted away from the crowd.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Dylan locked the inside of the restroom door as Ian paced back and forth fervently. He walked over to the sink counter and leaned his back against it, sliding his hands into his pockets. He stayed quiet, occasionally glancing up to gauge Ian’s intensity.

Ian walked with vehemence, turning on a dime to walk the length of the stalls repeatedly. “They!...” He kept walking, chewing on his words for a brief minute, until he faced Dylan. “Did you just Fireman’s Carry me into the bathroom?” Dylan nodded.

Ian considered this, and resumed pacing. “Why is it… that everywhere I go… every time I try to speak my mind…” Ian looked up at Dylan with urgency, “Every fucking time… someone has to whip out their cellphones? Why can’t I catch a break?” His red rimmed eyes started to mist. “Why can’t I… just… get to have an opinion like everyone else?” He slowed as he approached the wall at the end of the row and pressed his forehead into the cold tiles. “I feel like I’m losing it.”

Ian slowly rocked his head to each side, letting the tiles press into his forehead. The rolling pressure helped to stem the oncoming headache. “I feel like I’m just shouting into the void, sometimes. You know? Like it’ll never matter what I say, they’re always going to hate me.”

Dylan looked up. “Hate you? Ian, those kids definitely don’t hate y—wait, is this about your social media again?” Ian nodded solemnly, face squishing against the wall with the small movements.

“What happened?” Ian pushed himself away from the wall unenthusiastically, and shuffled over towards his friend. “It’s like… a constant wall of negativity every day. Just surrounding me every time I go to post something. It’s like I have a few nice comments and then a whole bunch of hate.

Dylan nodded and considered his words carefully. “Most of the people who comment on your posts are hateful?”

Ian looked up and caught his scowling reflection in the wall-length mirror. “Well… okay, maybe not most. But it feels like it.”

When Dylan didn’t immediately respond, Ian continued, “I don’t know… I never know anymore, what they’re going to say to me next. Sometimes they start out like they’re complimenting me, and then the next minute they’re telling me what a worthless piece of shit I am.”

“So you’re saying… you never know who to treat as a friend, if every fan is a potential enemy waiting to happen?” Ian shrugged. “That’s got to get real depressing really fast, Ian. You can’t think of your fan base in such a pessimistic way, or you’ll start to get paranoid.”

He hopped up onto the counter top behind him and swiveled to face the redhead. “I mean, if your fans didn’t love you, they wouldn’t pay to go see your movies, right? They wouldn’t all tune in to make your current show the huge hit that it is. I mean, last season broke records, dude. You know that wasn’t Russell Daniels’ doing. People are crazy about you. I’m pretty sure they’ll follow your career no matter how they feel about your past work.”

Ian chewed the inside of his lower lip. “You’re right, but that’s easy to say from afar. To me, when it’s a daily issue, it’s like they all start to blend together at some point. All of the smiling faces that approach me are just angry fans in disguise. They want me to fix things that I can’t fix, things that I never had a say in to begin with. Makes me want to delete my accounts altogether.”

Dylan looked up with a sly smirk. “I dunno… I can’t really picture you not sharing your every waking thought with the world. I mean, sometimes a diary just doesn’t cut it, Ian.”

Ian tittered, and Dylan visibly relaxed at the sign of Ian’s shifting mood. “Hey, it’s not my fault I’m so clever.”

Dylan took his cue to continue in a new direction, “And I have to say, I’m on their side with the whole ‘fans could do it better’ thing.”

“You are?”

“Yeah, and not just because the writers at my show are campy as fuck, either… I've read some awesome fanfiction where people have actually tied up all of the loose ends and filled in all of the plot holes my show left behind."

This caught Ian off guard. "You've read fanfiction? About your own show? Since when?!'

"Mikaela got me into reading it, back when she and Tyler were fake engaged. There's such a wide array of really great alternate stories, from fans who don't even get paid to do it! You know? Like this one where I'm a king, and Tyler is my favorite consort--"

"I don't want to know." He felt calmer than he was before, but something still plagued him. "Look, I've never been good with this whole "fan" thing, like, if they want to support me, great! If they want to watch my shows and movies, great! But that doesn't mean I don't have a right to privacy."

"I think that loss of privacy comes with the territory. Being actors, celebrities, famous faces out there with the purpose of drawing fans... I don't think privacy automatically comes with the career. We have more money than we know what to do with, and it all comes from showing up to work and reading lines out loud. We have the easiest jobs ever, and the perks are insane."

Ian shrugged, knowing there wasn't much he could argue there.

"And I'll admit that there are times I find it terrifying, watching the news, knowing what kind of people are out there in the world. Terrorists, stalkers who murder their idols... ever since Tyler and I got serious, this has been in the back of my mind constantly, the 'what ifs'.

Ian looked at his friend in surprise, "You worry about something bad happening to you?"

"I worry about something bad happening to Tyler."

Ian wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulder in comfort. After a couple moments had passed by he asked, “Am I a giant douchebag?” Dylan laughed, “Not at all. You’re just dramatic, sometimes.” He looked over into remorseful green eyes and added, “You know, like an actor.”

“Hey, Dyl, you remember that time I had you change my Twitter password and not tell me what the new one was for, like, weeks?”

“Time for a break again?” Ian snickered, “Yeah, I think that would be good, for me. Just for a little while.”

“Anytime, you name it.” Dylan patted him on the back and hopped away from the counter. “Come on, I’m pretty sure Heidi is out there watching our cart for us.”

Ian rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I feel really fucking weird, after all of that… if it’s cool with you, I’m just gonna pay for the drinks and hang out in the car for a bit.”

They headed out into the hall when Dylan noted, “Oh, don’t forget to grab your orange juice!”

Ian’s heart sped up as he remembered that he did have something better to focus on after all.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Mickey had insisted that they take cabs to their date, so they'd have the option of drinking as much as they'd like. He texted the address of the place just as Ian's uber pulled up. Ian suspected he'd wanted to keep the location a surprise.

Sure enough, the car pulled up to what looked to be a tiny, quiet bar tucked inconspicuously between fashion boutiques, seemingly void of the bustling crowds around him.

He stepped inside and the soft lighting put him at ease. He gave his name to the greeter, who walked him through twisting hallways full of band posters and gig announcements to the larger room, to where Mickey was in the far back, standing eagerly next to a private circular booth.

He was beaming, like he hadn't seen Ian in ages. "You look nice, Gallagher." Ian smirked, "Not so bad yourself, Milkovich."

He pulled close to draw Mickey into a kiss, who tilted sideways and pulled Ian into a bro hug. "Not here, man. Later."

They made small talk about Mickey's photo shoot until the server came over to take their order. "Ah, you don't hafta do that, man. We can just order at the bar."

"Gina insisted. Says you guys are old friends, refuses to let you pay. Says all drinks are on the house." Ian and Mickey looked across the room to the bar to see a smiling tattooed blonde holding up two middle fingers. Mickey chuckled, and held one up in return. "Well, in that case, tell her we want the works. She'll know what that means. Oh, and a whiskey and coke for my friend, here."

"Actually, I'll take mine with orange juice. It came highly recommended."

Mickey smirked as the server confirmed, "That's two whiskeys with o.j., and the works. I'll be right back with those."

Ian turned towards his date. "I’m guessing there are more surprises to come?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." He smiled a small, bashful smile while pretending to peruse the drink menu in front of him.

Ian took in his surroundings, noting that the place was way bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. "I like the feel of this place. It’s like a rock show could break out at any moment.” Ian glanced slyly in Mickey’s direction, a silent speculation towards the stage running along the back wall, just off to the side of their booth. “We’d have the best seats in the house, if that were to happen.”

"Funny you should mention that. You familiar with the band Smokin’ Hand Snipers? No? Well, they’ve been touring around for a bit, but every once in a while they’ll come back here to do a cover night. They’re friends with Gina, too.”

“Cover night? Like… people pay a cover to hear them play?”

“I mean like literal covers. They play harder versions of other bands’ songs. You just gotta request it and they’ll play whtever.”

Ian nodded, impressed, and considered the possibilities. There was a chance he could give his date a surprise of his own, tonight.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

After finishing their platter of barbeque glazed steak bites, loaded potato skins, buffalo mac and cheese pizza rolls, and beer battered jalapeno poppers, Ian was just about ready to burst. “I hope you incorporated my food coma into our date, because I’m not sure how sexy I’ll be passed out drooling with my pants undone.”

“You had me at ‘pants undone’. And the works ain’t over yet; I saved the best for last.” He slid closer to Ian, only thinking to look over his shoulder at the small crowd of patrons after the fact. Ian rested his hand on Mickey’s thigh, rubbing his thumb along the outer seam.

“So, tell me more about the band that’s coming up. I’m not familiar with them.”

“They’re cool. I’ve jammed with them plenty of times, knew the lead singer from back in the day.”

“Jammed with… you play? Holy shit, what do you play? I had no idea you played an instrument!”

“It’s been a while. Don’t have the free time like I used to…” He finished his whiskey and raised his hand towards their server to request another round. “I used to want to be this rock star guitar player when I was a kid, though. Practiced all the time. Lead singer is an old friend from Staten Island, a bunch of us used to play whatever after school cause it was better than slingin’. My mom just about blew a fuckin’ gasket the first time I got sent to juvie. Bought me the first electric guitar she could find at the pawn shop, and that was that.”

Ian stared at him in awe. “How do you keep getting sexier?”

Mickey lifted an eyebrow and pointed over Ian’s shoulder. “That’s how.”

A different server approached with an oversized glass filled with the biggest chocolate sundae Ian had ever personally encountered. As soon as she set the dish down, Mickey grabbed a spoon and immediately dug in. Ian began taking inventory, “Chocolate ice cream, chocolate syrup, brownies, peanut butter cups, whipped cream, chocolate chips… almonds?” Mickey nodded. “And what looks to be an ocean of more chocolate syrup at the bottom. I don’t think I’m going to get through a fraction of this.”

Mickey looked pleased. “More for me then, Firecrotch.” He wiggled his eyebrows and continued into his dessert. Ian took a large gulp of whiskey. “Fuck it, I’m in.” He picked up the other spoon and joined in, leaning close enough that the sides of their bodies were pressed up against each other.

“Better not let this shit go to waste, man, I’m serious. You never waste chocolate.”

Ian took his opportunity to tease the man who always seemed to be one step ahead of him. “Well, if we do have any chocolate left over, I’ll just have to find a good use for it…”

Mickey paused and lifted his head from the bowl. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Ian tilted his head so that his lips were tracing the outer edge of Mickey’s ear. “I’d drizzle it all over your cock, and lick it off slowly…”

He leaned back a bit to gauge Mickey’s response. The brunet looked Ian in the eye and replied, “Or you could just pour it on your own cock, pound the fuck outta me and coat my ass in syrup. Once I come so hard I see stars, you can lick it out of me.” Ian’s jaw dropped. “After that, you can shove your chocolate coated dick down my throat. It’d be like a banana split.”

Mickey casually returned to his sundae as Ian stared him down, heat flushing up his neck and his eyes darkening. He reached forward to pull the sundae away from him, wanting to devour the man instead of the dessert.

“Ian, take your hand off the glass.”

“Mick… fuck, I want you.” He placed his hand back on Mickey’s thigh, and rubbed firmly along the solid muscle. Mickey peered around at the other booths and tables, noting that they still had some time before the place was filled to capacity. “Pretty soon they’ll start setting up their gear, and when they do, they’ll drop the lights in here.” He looked at Ian meaningfully, and Ian felt his heart pumping faster.

They threw back another whiskey each, and made their best efforts to eat as much as they could of their sundae which, Ian had to admit, would be an awful shame to waste…

. . . . . . . . . . . .

After the dishes were cleared and they’d amassed several whiskey glasses and empty beer bottles, they reclined in their seats, letting the warm feeling of anticipation wind through their veins. Ian was floating, a huge grin plastered on his face as he gazed at the object of his affection.

“And that’s why I’ll never eat any of those Lunchables with the little Capri Sun pouches ever again. Biggest fuckin’ mistake of my life, man.”

Ian laughed, and shook his head, feeling like he was in a trance. He wanted nothing more in the world than to kiss this man. He wanted to kiss him so badly, it was painful.

As if the universe could hear his thoughts and decided to throw him a bone, the lights dropped, surrounding them in near darkness. The only illumination came from the bar and from the stage lights starting up one by one.

He took his opportunity and lunged forward, kissing Mickey hard on the mouth. When the older man didn’t pull away, he brought his hands to the sides of his neck, cherishing him, wanting this moment to last as long as possible.

To Ian’s great surprise, Mickey kissed him back just as firmly, slipping his tongue into the redhead’s mouth. Their arms wound their way around each other, and the rest of the bar drifted away into the distance. The public around them was completely forgotten, until the sound of applause grew louder and louder.

Mickey pulled back and stared softly into Ian’s eyes, maintaining the moment while not removing himself from Ian’s warm embrace.

Someone introduced the band, who immediately jumped right into their first song. In Ian’s increasingly foggy mind, he thought it sounded familiar, but couldn’t place it. Still lost in Mickey’s gaze, he searched his blue eyes for answers. One by one, each instrument joined in to create the melody of the intro. It was something Ian had known since he was a kid, it’s as if it were on the tip of his tongue…

Mickey lifted a hand to cradle the side of Ian’s face just in time to lip synch the opening lines in time with the lead singer:

_“Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight_  
_It must have been something you said_  
_I just died in your arms tonight”_

Ian was transported. Every moment with Mickey was a complete fucking shock to the system.

“Ian”, Mickey stated while still holding his face, “I’m fuckin’ drunk.”

Ian laughed wholeheartedly, and wrapped his arms even tighter around the man of his dreams.

They stared at each other longingly as the band continued:

_“I keep looking for something I can't get_  
_Broken hearts lie all around me_  
_And I don't see an easy way to get out of this”_

Ian was prepared this time, and held up a fist of passion to his face as he jumped in and sung with the crowd:

_“Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight_  
_It must've been some kind of kiss_  
_I should have walked away, I should have walked away”_

Mickey watched as Ian’s face was scrunched up with intensity as he belted out the chorus. Mickey looked around him, and was unable to see a thing around him except for the lights on the stage and the band in front of them. Fuck it. He leaned in to kiss Ian some more as the song continued on.

_“Is there any just cause for feeling like this?_  
_On the surface I'm a name on a list_  
_I try to be discreet but then blow it again”_

Ian pulled back to ask, “What is this song about? Who’s the girl writing in her diary?”

Mickey shook his head. “Nah, it’s just about how this guy came real hard.” At Ian’s confused expression, Mickey continued, “Ya know, fuckin… dirty talk or some shit. Kissed him real good, and he came. In her arms.”

“I wanna make _you_ come in her arms.”

“Swing and a miss, man.” Mickey bit Ian’s lower lip, and kissed him hard, not stopping even as the song came to an end and the audience applauded and cheered.

“Thank you! My name is Kyle and we are the Smokin’ Hand Snipers! We’d like to thank the goddess in charge of this joint, the lovely Miss Gina, for hosting us this evening.” A round of applause was directed towards the bar, which went completely unnoticed by the couple up front, utterly engrossed in their passionate embrace.

“Turns out we also have another good friend joining us here, tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our guest Mickey Milkovich!”

They jumped apart and slid several feet away from each other just in time for the light beam to hit their table, illuminating their faces for all to see. “Fuck you, asshole!” drifted throughout the bar for all to hear, and the laughter from the audience was followed by woops and cheers.

The lead singer wore his best cheshire cat grin as he mock squinted towards Mickey’s table and asked, “And I see you’re joined by a friend tonight. What’s your name, friend?”

Mickey shook his head frantically and gave Ian wide eyes of warning before Ian gleefully shouted, “Ian! I’m Ian Gallagher!” Mickey patted Ian’s shoulder, hoping it would calm him. Instead, Ian hopped out of the booth and walked unsteadily towards the stage.

The lead singer outstretched a hand and helped Ian to his feet on the stage next to him. “Ian Gallagher! Holy shit, we have the star of Santa Monica Slaughter with us here tonight! Hey, man, thanks for joining us!” The applause felt different this time, knowing that they were clapping for him. He used to think that nothing could top the rush he got from a captivated audience, but now he knew there was another kind of thrill, one that pulled him in like a magnet.

He looked towards their table to see if he could see Mickey’s face; see if he was proud of him for the recognition. He was alarmed to find that the bright lights of the stage had lit up their table completely, leaving nothing hidden whatsoever. What they thought had been a private moment was actually broadcast loud and clear to Mickey’s friends.

Ian was electrified, and was fully prepared to shock his date with a surprise he’d barely been able to contain.

He turned to the singer. “Can I sing the next song?” He could barely hear the response over the cheers from the crowd, so he pointed towards the Ibanez Artstar in Kyle’s hands. The guitar was handed over quickly as Ian turned away from the microphone and murmured something amongst the band. They nodded in approval.

Ian stepped up to the mic and yelled, “1, 2, 3, 4!” The bar filled with the crunchy bass buildup to what was instantly recognized as Rage Against the Machine’s ‘Killing in the Name of’. Guitars played against each other, creating a climactic buildup. The crowd was loving it.

Alone in his booth, Mickey tilted his head back in challenge. He licked his lips seductively, and Ian mustered up all of the adrenaline he could manage.

Despite a minor fumbling in his finger placement, Ian quickly blended into his chords, allowing the guitarist to his left to pick up the more intricate runs. To the delight of everyone, he leaned into the mic and started to sing.

_“Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses”_

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the hot brunet in their booth, staring him down… Ian had never been an aggressive singer before, choosing lighter alternative fare without as much bite. On a good day, you might even get him to attempt a falsetto. But tonight, he was a rockstar in his element, throwing the words out at the crowd, growling occasionally.

_“Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites_  
_You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites”_

The band members at his sides were jumping in time to the beat, thrashing about with expert showmanship. He hoped that he looked even the slightest bit as impressive.

Kyle joined Ian at the mic to sing backup:

_“And now you do what they told ya, (now you're under control)_  
_And now you do what they told ya, (now you're under control)_  
_And now you do what they told ya, (now you're under contrrrrrollllllll!l)_  
_And now you do what they told ya!”_

The song was building in intensity, and Ian looked to their table to find that Mickey had his hands splayed out in front of him, head tilted downward, eyes staring up into Ian’s. His piercing gaze was blazing.

This was working.

The song was approaching its climax, and the crowd cheered louder in anticipation.

_“Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me_  
_Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me_  
_Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!_  
_Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!_  
_Motherfuckerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!_  
_Uggh!”_

The crowd was on their feet, and Ian was completely lost in the music, his body swaying naturally to the rhythm.

The song ended on an upnote, and he held his best pose, feeling like he was filled with fire.

He beamed the biggest smile he could muster, and breathed heavily into the mic, “I’d like to dedicate that song to my former manager.” The crowd laughed and applauded. “Oh, and I want to say that I’m sorry, to my fans, and that I’m an asshole.” The crowd roared with laughter, and cheered harder than ever.

On cue, Mickey jumped out of the booth and strode towards the stage, lunging forward to leap onto it, only to lose his footing and slide back down. He tried again, and slowly pulled himself up onto the platform.

Already seeing where this was going, the crowd got back up on their feet and started jumping in place with unkempt excitement at the impending moment unravelling in front of them.

Ian spoke into the mic, “You guys are probably the best audience I’ve ever seen in my life. You’re cheering so much.” This, of course, prompted them to get louder and rowdier. It occurred to him that someone out there must be recording all of this, and he hoped to god they’d post it somewhere.

Mickey walked up to Ian and puffed up his chest, leaning in close to Ian’s face, so close that Ian felt himself restraining from planting a kiss on those puffy lips for all to see. Mickey licked them slowly and pointed to their booth. “Go sit, tough guy.” He dismissed the Artstar Kyle extended towards him, and strode past him to the lead guitarist, impatiently thrusting his hand out for the Mick Thomson signature Warlock. The guitarist laughed and handed it over.

Ian had barely had the chance slowly, steadily slide himself off the stage and onto the floor when Mickey shouted, “Psychosocial! GO!” He jumped into the intro and the other members jumped in just in time; rhythm, drum and bass thumping as backup to Mickey’s shredding.

Ian paused, deciding against sitting down and instead turned to face the performance. He wondered how Mickey was going to be able to play a song like this considering he wasn’t walking any steadier than he was, and this song was hard enough to play sober.

But Mickey had picked it up like he’d been touring for months. Shredding at an impressive pace, he swung the neck of the guitar forward and snapped it back in time with the beat. He lurched forward repeatedly, thrashing to the song like he hadn’t just downed a fuck ton of alcohol.

_“The reckoning, the sickening_  
_Packaging subversion_  
_Pseudo sacrosanct perversion”_

Ian stumbled forward to catch himself on the edge of the stage, staring up at Mickey like he’d invented the act of playing live. Propping his elbows up and staring dreamily, Ian brought the role of Mickey’s fanboy to life. The thought that this, too, was probably caught on camera drifted through his mind and was immediately dismissed. He said aloud, “But are you SEEING THIS?”

Mickey’s playing became more and more sexual as his body moved fluidly. The rest of the band was now jumping about, feeding off of the energy of the room. By the roar of the bar patrons, you’d think that they were at an actual Slipknot concert.

Ian’s focus fixed on the way Mickey moved his fingers across the frets, sliding up and down with expertise. Blurring with the movement, Ian wondered if it sounded better to his inebriated ears than it did to everyone else. He turned around to face the roaring crowd, smiled, and threw up both arms bearing devil horns as high as he could reach.

When he turned around to watch Mickey’s solo, he found the man propped up on his knees at the edge of the stage, torso tilted backwards, eyes glued to the fretboard. The pick no longer applicable, he used his fingertips to tap out the notes that flew by rapidly. His tongue poked out of the side of his mouth, and Ian was in love.

It occurred to him that he was rock hard, and pressed his hips into the stage wall in an effort to hide it from the audience. Mickey was so close he could reach out and touch him, but he kept his hands atop the stage, not wanting anything to stop the incredible sight in front of him.

_“And the rain will kill us all..._  
_We throw ourselves against the wall_  
_But no one else can see_  
_The preservation of the martyr in me”_

Mickey was playing the hell out of this song, and Ian became suddenly aware that everyone in the room could see what he was seeing, see Mickey shining in his own right, the most incredible man he’d ever met.

As the song came to a close, Mickey was thrashing with the best of them, while Kyle screamed a rage-filled baritone into the mic. The song ended on a snare drum beat, and Mickey snapped his head back into his best “Fuck You” sneer ever accomplished.

The crowd went wild, stomping and demanding an encore. Mickey looked down, jaw slack and panting for breath. He locked eyes with Ian, and darkened to match his own. He handed over the guitar, and hopped off the stage, both men hurrying out of sight, letting the words and praise of their performances wash over their heads in a sloshed stupor.

Ian grabbed Mickey by the wrist and pulled him towards the restroom. Upon seeing where they were headed, Mickey pulled away and slurred, “Not here. None of their fuckin’ business…”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

He turned abruptly and headed towards the back exit, Ian hot on his trail. The cool breeze hit them as they strolled through the door, engulfed in the safety of darkness in the poorly lit back parking lot.

Mickey whipped his head around repeatedly, then bolted for the silver suv parked in the back of the lot. Ian laughed as he struggled to catch his runaway date. Mickey caught himself hard on the driver door, and joined in. “Asshole, why’d you run?”

“So you’d take your pants off faster.” Ian grinned salaciously and undid his belt. “Wait, get in first.” Mickey opened the door without fanfare and crawled over to the backseat. Ian joined him, closing the door behind him. “Mick, whose car are we in?”

“Gina’s. Knew it’d be open. Last I recall, she blew her last husband in my Mustang, so the bitch owes me.” Ian nodded as he struggled to pull his pants off over his shoes. “Fuck. Mickey… Mick!”

Mickey had pulled his shirt off and was unzipping his jeans when he looked up. “What’s the holdup?” Ian looked solemnly into blue eyes and stated, “I had a really nice time tonight, but I think I should be getting home now.”

Mickey’s face recoiled, and his eyebrows furrowed as tightly together as they could meet. He asked with a touch of sadness in his voice, “Shit… really?” His expression morphed into one of equal parts sorrow and confusion.

Ian pulled him onto his lap spreading Mickey’s knees around his thighs and grinned deviously. “No, not really.” He threw his head back onto the cushioned headrest, relishing in his victory. “I fuckin’ got you, Mick, finally!”

Mickey remained still for a beat, and then grinned into Ian’s satisfied smile. “Fuck off.” He kissed Ian sweetly and wrapped his arms around Ian’s neck, as Ian kissed him back while trying to remove Mickey’s jeans. When this proved impossible in the position they were in, Ian gently pushed Mickey backwards so that the older man was propped up against the back of the driver’s seat. Mickey’s jeans were by no means tight, but straddling Ian left little to no room to remove the bunched fabric.

“This won’t… fucking… Mick, I can’t get your pants off.” Mickey wriggled in place as the denim shimmied down to his upper thighs. “Ian, take off your shirt.” Ian complied, and Mickey tumbled forward to lick and suck on the taller man’s neck. Ian struggled valiantly to unwrap Mickey from the denim casing, but got distracted by the sight in front of him. He let his hand wander inside the front opening of Mickey’s boxers, and tenderly gripped the stiff cock like it was meant to fit in his hand.

Mickey groaned loudly, slowly, drew it out, let it linger in Ian’s ear. “You are so fucking hot. You playin’ guitar for me, singing like that… I wanted to fuck you on the spot.”

“God, Mick.” Ian began to pump absentmindedly. “Felt the same about you.”

Mickey rocked his hips forward, holding himself up by the back of Ian’s neck. He swayed to the side, hesitated, and let himself fall onto the seat. “Need you to take my pants off.” He lifted his knees up towards Ian’s head, and gave Ian a look of helplessness.

Ian pulled Mickey’s jeans down over his boots, which proved to be even more futile than his own state of near-undress. He tugged with increasing frustration before ripping Mickey’s boots off completely, along with his pants and socks. His attention moved fluidly to Mickey’s boxers, and he found his hand wandering inside again.  
Mickey turned on his side and pressed his body against the seat back, thrusting in the general direction of Ian’s hand. Ian started to feel a nonsensical jealousy towards the cushion, getting the attention that Ian was working hard to earn.

He pulled Mickey up by his hips and held him up with a hand on his chest, the other hand working Mickey’s boxers down to his ankles. Mickey kicked one foot out, and Ian pulled him back on his lap, rolling his hips upwards. “Mickey. I need you so, so fucking bad.” He reached into the opening of his own boxers, pulling out his leaking cock, throbbing and desperate for relief. He spit into his hand and folded his fingers over, rubbing them against his palm. He spit again, holding his hand out for Mickey to spit into as well.

He stroked himself carefully, trying not to spread the saliva too thin. He situated Mickey into a kneeling position and lined himself up. They pressed against each other repeatedly, trying to achieve penetration. After a minute of grinding into each other, Mickey tilted back and sighed dramatically, “This ain’t gonna work, Ian. You gotta lube me up or somethin’. Get slipperier. More slippery. Fuck.”

In reached for his ankles to retrieve his wallet, immediately noticing the clusterfuck of a tangle his pants had become. “Can you just ride my face for a minute? I’ll open you up with my tongue.”

“Fuck no. Have to get me drunk first, man.” Ian burst into laughter, hugging Mickey tightly. “You’re so amazing, Mickey.” He slid a long finger into his mouth mid-embrace, and ran it softly up Mickey’s crack. When the dark haired man sighed in Ian’s ear, he pressed it in, finally finding it’s intended goal.

Mickey rocked back and forth with the digital penetration, quiet moans escaping with every thrust. “Alright, fucking fine. Lay down.” Ian obliged, and Mickey quickly crawled forward towards his grinning face, pulling his boxers off in a huff.

Ian’s long tongue was like silk, lapping and thrusting eagerly. Mickey gripped the window sill of the door in front of him, looking outside the SUV for the first time since they’d entered. The idea that someone could see them despite the tinted windows hadn’t occurred to him until this moment, a small spark of anxiety breaking through the bubble of inebriated invincibility.

“Oh shit, what if someone sees us?” The small window of clarity slowly grew wider, as if sobriety were trickling down onto his face. His breathing grew heavier, and he glanced around his shoulders repeatedly.

Ian pulled his tongue out, chin slick with saliva. “God, that’s so fucking hot. I’d love to give them a good show.” Before Mickey could protest further, Ian continued, “I want to show you off, Mick. Bend you over in front of everyone in that bar. Slide into you good and fucking hard. Slam my cock into you, give them something to cheer about.” He resumed his tonguing, diving deeper, occasionally circling his tongue around the rim.

Mickey allowed his mind to drift, picturing Ian utterly dominating him publicly, claiming him, pressing into him without hesitation. His hips picked up speed, and he licked his lips, gripping the sill harder. The sensation combined with continuing fantasies about public sex acts with Ian led him to ride Ian’s face harder, faster, moaning audibly.

Ian’s fingers gripped tight into Mickey’s ass, pulling him closer, burying his tongue as far into Mickey as he could reach. Mickey couldn’t get any harder or thicker than he was, and was going to end up coming untouched if this kept up. Mickey pulled up and off of Ian’s tongue, walking backwards on his knees, finding Ian’s engorged member straining for him. Without warning, he gripped it at its base, and slid down onto it. The alcohol masked the sting of the stretch, letting him wriggle down quickly, feeling full by the time he was seated.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck!” Ian drawled, wrapping an arm around Mickey and bracing himself by planting his other hand behind him. “Oh my god… oh my god, Mickey, you feel so fucking good.” Aided by the natural lubrication from Ian’s leaking cock, Mickey lifted up and slammed down onto it repeatedly. They held each other as close as they could, Mickey’s arms wrapped around Ian’s shoulder and behind his back.

Ian lifted his face from Mickey’s chest and peered up at him. “Mickey, look at me.” Biting his lip hard, Mickey opened his eyes and locked them with his lovers. They gazed at each other, letting their hips take over while they got lost in each other’s embrace. The groans and grunts grew rapid as their movements grew forceful.  
Ian spoke between heavy breaths, “I’m so fucking happy with you, Mickey. I’m so fucking happy.” Mickey panted, his jaw slackened and eyebrows furrowed. His blue eyes sparkled and he pressed up chest to chest with Ian, as if they were trying to crawl inside each other’s skin.

When Ian felt the familiar tensing of his gut, he angled to slam repeatedly into Mickey’s prostate and spit down onto Mickey’s neglected cock, stroking it fervently.

They came hard and moaned loudly, cradling each other, Ian’s head tucked into Mickey’s neck. They held each other as they came down gradually from their highs.

“M’really fuckin’ happy, Ian.” Mickey ran a hand down Ian’s face, resting on his cheekbone. “Gonna be honest with you man… we need to get outta this car so I can stretch before we go again.”

Ian laughed. “I don’t think I can move. I hate my pants so fucking much. Fuck these pants.”

Mickey reached through the mess of clothes on the floor and retrieved his phone, ordering them a ride. “We’ll take an uber to my place, get us some real lube. You can walk around with no pants at all, man.” He looked up thoughtfully. “Do they get pissed if you’re naked in an uber? Ah, fuck ‘em.”

Ian huffed in exhausted laughter, limp body pressed into the seat back, beaming up at the man of his dreams.

“Yeah, fuck ‘em.”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who showed so much support and patience during the time I spent struggling to make this chapter just right. I really appreciate it!
> 
> Special thanks to RedStarFiction for being so clever and creative at the drop of a hat.
> 
> Shoutout to J_Q! Did you see it? Does it do your prompt justice? :D


	6. Shop Around

Ian felt the cool fabric against his skin first, awakening slowly to the comfort of the ideal temperature surrounding him. His eyes heavy with sleep, he let the warmth of contentment wash over him, making no moves to leave the perfect moment. 

He was aware that it must still be early- too early, as his room was still blanketed in moonlight, the darkness hinting at a dawn not yet arrived. He stretched his long limbs and sighed.

Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, he reached for his phone on his bedstand, only to find his hand waving about in the air. His head perked up in confusion, eyes popping open, scanning the space where his bedstand should’ve been. 

It dawned on him slowly that this was not his room. He looked around at the large space, minimal furniture, and the length of the bed that dwarfed his own.

He realized where he was at the same time that his heart leapt into his chest, planting memories in his mind that were too good to be true. _Mickey_. The bar, the SUV, making out frantically in the backseat of the uber, giggling and tossing clothes about the length of the house from the front door to Mickey’s bedroom. Indulging in each other all over again.

He turned to his right to find the breathtakingly beautiful man staring at him, quietly watching Ian come to. Mickey’s features were soft, open. His blue eyes still visible in the shadows, fixed on Ian’s stirring form.

He rolled onto his side, and inched himself closer to his lover. Looking at each other longingly, Mickey raised a slow hand to Ian’s face, stroking softly down to his shoulder, continuing down his arm. There is a small trace of a smile, and Mickey’s features looked peaceful, and at ease. 

Ian’s heart started pounding as he reached up a hand and placed it softly onto Mickey’s cheek, gently moving his thumb back and forth. Mickey searched Ian’s face with uncertainty, and Ian felt responsible for the vulnerability he saw in him. In that moment he knew that he would do anything to prevent seeing pain or hurt in those eyes. 

Ian leaned forward and kissed him softly, firmly. Mickey placed a hand on the back of his neck and held Ian in place, kissing him back.

They let it build up quietly with intensity, and Mickey crawled on top of him. Ian ran his hands down Mickey’s sides, smoothing them, rubbing the insides of his hips with his thumbs. He trailed them down Mickey’s defined V lines, stroking at them slowly, listening to Mickey’s breathing turn into panting. He let his thumbs slide closer and closer to Mickey’s swelling cock without actually touching it, pulling back at the last second with each swipe. 

Mickey started stroking himself in response, and Ian allowed himself a moment to watch it unfold… Mickey’s head tilted back in pleasure as his eyes drifted shut. His tongue poked out of the side of his mouth, and Ian’s hands instinctively reached higher to join hands with the brunet’s, pumping in unison. 

When the whispered pants turned into soft moans, Ian grabbed Mickey’s perfect round ass with both hands and flipped them onto Mickey’s back. Running strong hands down the back of his muscular thighs, he stopped at Mickey’s knees and lifted, bending his legs in half and pressing them up to his chest. 

He ran a dry finger between Mickey’s cheeks to find that he was still slick and pliant from earlier. Ian groaned at the feeling and lined himself up without hesitation. He pushed in, angling his upper torso to rest on Mickey’s chest and pressed their foreheads together. They slid against each other again and again, watching the other fall apart wordlessly; the only sounds coming from either were the encouraging moans and the frantic slapping of skin against skin.

They kept at it until the sun began to rise, lifting the shadows enough for Ian to fully see Mickey’s wrecked state as they both climaxed hard together. Ian collapsed on top of him, still thrusting, still tugging at the man under him. Struggling to catch his breath, his eyelids fell closed, and he drifted off into slumber, both arms wrapping their way around Mickey tightly.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

When he awoke hours later, it was to bright sunlight shining through the window panes. Stretching out in the big, empty bed, Ian felt his upper thighs cramping up. He smiled as wide as his cheeks would allow. Worth it. So worth it.

He glanced around the room, finding only his boxers on the floor. He slipped them on slowly, pausing afterwards to stretch his sore muscles. Ambling over to the window, he placed a hand on the outer frame and leaned forward to take in the view.

The backyard was beautiful… freshly mowed green grass and small trees met with light gray tiles, encompassing a sparkling blue pool, containing its own hot tub within. Looking straight down, he could see a square black fire pit sitting next to a bar adorned with a tropical-style grass hut roof and black leather bar stools.  
Vaguely recalling Mickey’s invitation to check the place out, he let his mind wander and his gaze drifted back to the hot tub. 

_Nothing wrong with trying something new, right Red?_

Filled with excitement as he left the room and stepped into the hallway, he was hit with an enticing array of smells. Bacon, pancakes, syrup… other sweet scents wafted their way towards him, swirling and fighting for his attention. He descended the staircase quickly, reminding himself not to drool. 

The stairs ended in a large room filled with modern, attractive furniture that he didn’t remember passing by the night prior. Images fleshed out in his mind, large hands caressing Mickey’s lower torso as they shed their clothes, giggling, stumbling up the staircase. A cursory glance around told him that someone must’ve picked up their clothing, because the boxers snug around his hips were the only article of clothing in sight.

Black leather sectionals and marble-top tables filled the spacious room, a large section of one wall dedicated to framed photos. As he walked closer to get a better look, he could hear murmuring coming from the next room. He stepped softly, not at all ashamed to let his curiosity lead to eavesdropping. 

He could only make out some of what was said, but Mickey’s words were terse and laced with quiet aggression. 

“You’re not fuckin doin it! No fucking way! …..Cause I said so, that’s why… shouldn’t have to explain this shit.”

“Oh, you are my father now, yes? You want I should call you Daddy?” Contrary to Mickey’s heated words, hers sounded playful, almost teasing. 

Ian took in each photo with fascination; the standout shot being Mickey posed with his arm around Steven Seagal, the latter wearing an expression of tough masculine pride. Mickey’s eyes were almost glittering, and his smile shone with untamperable elation. 

Ian’s heart swelled with gratitude; seeing Mickey look so overjoyed felt personal to him.

“Fuck you. I make good money so you don’t gotta do shit like that. Go shopping or something. You love spending my money, why don’t you do that instead?”

Ian inspected the progression of photos; most including his girlfriend, all of them pairing Mickey with some celebrity or another. He couldn’t help but notice the strained smile and vacant blue eyes becoming prevalent, whereas Svetlana’s poses exuded confidence and success. 

“What’s with everyone going fucking ‘yachting’ all the time, anyway? What, they can’t do that shit in private?” Ian could hear dishes dropping heavily onto the counter, and drawers opening and slamming. “What ever happened to whoring yourself out behind closed doors, like the good old days? Why’s everyone gotta go way out into the ocean?”

Ian made a mental note to ask Gail what “yachting” was all about. He’d been on yachts a few times with friends, and nothing more scandalous than getting drunk and singing karaoke acapella had ever occurred. 

“You are just scared that someone will see; that it would lead back to you, harm precious image.”

Ian’s hips grazed the table in front of him, and he looked down at the few framed photos resting between ornate decorations and thick white candles. There were two of Mickey with his arm around a girl Ian didn’t recognize… In both photos, her hair was the same shade as his, and they held strikingly similar features. He wondered to himself if this was the younger sister that lived in New York.

The tall frame in the middle caught Ian off guard. It was another photo of Mickey and Svetlana, the one he’d seen on Google the day he first met Mickey… the look of apathy and disinterest was gone; Mickey looked genuinely happy to be in her tight embrace. If he didn’t know better, he would almost think that Mickey was blushing…

The voices from the next room grew louder. “Ay, you wanna get photographed sucking off some dude on a boat, be my fuckin guest. You know it ain’t gonna be me getting crucified over it.”

Ian tiptoed closer to the edge of the wall, peering around it, trying to remain inconspicuous as he watched them argue. She grinned wickedly, “But they will.”

“How?”

She stepped in close, reaching out to trail a fingertip down his white tank. “Because they will see you as weak pussy who cannot please his woman. She is blowing another man on big boat, he must not know how to satisfy. Not good for short macho man.”

Mickey steamed silently, nostrils flaring, not breaking eye contact. 

She added sweetly, “Why you slap dicks out of my mouth, when I did not slap the dick out of yours?” 

After staring each other down, Mickey conceded, “Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want.” Ian watched Mickey as he pushed away from the island and stomped over to the counter, loading up two plates with bacon and pancakes, tucking the bottle of syrup into the nook of his elbow before grabbing both plates in a huff.

His eyes followed Mickey back towards the island, on his way to the table. They stopped with a halt as they landed on the soul-piercing gaze of an angry Russian, staring him down with a ferocious sneer.

A cold jolt ran down his spine, and he froze in place. She folded her arms and turned to the scantily clad blonde half-sitting on the table, absorbed in her phone.

"Nika!" The blonde looked up with disinterest, and Svet began speaking a rapidfire, harsh Russian. Nika shrugged, and went back to boredly scrolling through her phone.

Catching Mickey on his way back, she announced, "Nika wants we should go shopping instead. Needs new dress." She held out one hand expectantly, leaving the other folded.

"Okay...great. You've already got three of my credit cards, what the fuck else do you need?" He kept walking and lit up with a bright smile when he was within sight of Ian.

"Hey, Rip Van Twinkle! I was just about to come wake your ass up!" He leaned up to kiss Ian on the lips. "Made you breakfast." He spanked his ass as he walked by, calling over his shoulder, "Pour me some coffee?" He sprinted up the stairs, and Ian turned towards the scowling brunette with a shit-eating grin.

"You must be Svetlana. Debroya utro?" The smug satisfaction multiplied as she scowled deeper.

He grabbed the full pot of coffee and poured it into the two waiting mugs next to it. Not sure how exactly Mickey preferred his coffee, he opted to leave it black. He strode past the angry woman with the victorious smile plastered to his face. Pulling out a chair, he sipped at his coffee, preferring to wait for Mickey to come back so that they could start breakfast together.

"You are mistake." The sour condescension he'd heard from her in Mickey's trailer was back in full force. "Oh yeah?" he replied without turning to meet her.

He heard the click clack of heels approach him, stopping at his side. "You are temporary. He will realize mistake. You are no good."

Ian chuckled and leaned back in his chair, more than willing to let her embarrass herself further. "He seems pretty happy to me...maybe you're used to seeing him miserable when he's around you?" He sipped at his mug in silent victory.

She lowered herself into the seat next to him and held his gaze like a challenge. "You will bring him only regret."

Ian sighed impatiently. "And how's that, exactly?"

"You do not want secret boyfriend. You want big romance. You will try to force him to accept you. He will never do this."

Ian remained still as her words washed over him. Seeing that she had hit at Ian's own insecurity, she pressed further. "You are selfish and inconsiderate. You do not care about what he wants, what makes him happy. You think only of carrot boy."

Carefully keeping his voice calm and schooling his face into a neutral expression, he countered, "We'll see about that. Besides, I'm not the one who had him all worked up five minutes ago. You didn't seem to care about what he wanted then."

"I abide by his wishes!"

"Because you didn’t want to lose face in front of me."

Her jaw tensed as she chose her words carefully. "Mikhailo and I disagree, this is true. I want to have real life with girlfriend, show her off, hold hands like normal fucking woman in love, yes. Do you think I give a shit what anyone thinks? I have choice? He says no. I tell him it make him look better to pig-headed fans, have girlfriend with girlfriend? Every man's dream, is it not?"

He huffed indignantly and she rolled her eyes in response. "...But he did not want this, and I respect his wishes. He and I are team, we make decisions together." She leaned in for effect, "I care about his happiness. You care only about fame, you take advantage of a lonely man for his money."

Mickey was lonely?

Shrugging aside her raw and unexpected confession, he spit, "I'm using him for his money? That's funny... for an actress, I've never actually heard of a single thing you've ever been in. Good thing you have a rich 'boyfriend' to bankroll your shopping sprees, right?"

A lesser man might've withered under the look she gave him in response, but he pressed on. "Am I wrong? Why don't you march up the stairs of your MANSION and tell him you don't need his credit cards after all."

He kept his gaze lowered to the coffee he resumed, in fear that looking at her pinched expression for one moment longer might cause him to erupt in a fit of laughter. He had plans for Mickey, today, and they involved him not being castrated.

Right on cue, Mickey's heavy footsteps padded down the stairs, and he trotted happily towards Ian. He wrapped an arm around his collar bone from behind and kissed his neck. "Thanks, you knew just how I liked it." He settled down in front of his plate and took a long gulp from the hot mug.

Ian couldn't help himself from smirking at the double entendre. He turned to look at the fuming Russian with the most adorable expression he could muster as he responded to his lover. "Anytime, Mick." 

"Ay Svet, didn't you say you were gonna get the fuck outta here?" Mickey inquired politely while pouring a heavy stream of maple syrup over his plate.

Her intense glare was gone, but Ian felt more disturbed by the unreadable expression she conveyed as she glanced between the two men in front of her.

"Gonna fuck Ian in the hot tub later. Need some privacy."

..........................

The warm, throbbing jets soothed Ian’s muscles as he reclined his back against the hot tub wall. “This is perfect… I could sit here forever. Can I live in your hot tub, Mick?”

Mickey stirred from his corner, lifting his head off of the French patterned tiles surrounding the pool. “Sure, but your ass is paying rent for it, though. This place ain’t cheap.” He smirked as his eyes ran down Ian’s naked body, submerged in the water but still visibly spread out on display. 

“Sounds like she pressured you into buying it. That must be stifling.” Ian dared, knowing he was probably crossing a line but wanting to see where Mickey straddled it.

“It’s not so bad, here. I can’t complain about this backyard, man.” He sat up a little straighter, pressing his back against the wall. “Svet ain’t so bad, either, once you get past the five layers of frosted, uptight bitch.”

“She seems like a lot to handle”, Ian ventured. 

“She holds her own… she’d hold my balls in a jar, if she could.” He chuckled. “You’ll get used to her, though. Just gotta wear her down. The more you come around, the more she’ll warm up to you.”

Ian swam towards Mickey, caressing his thigh as he approached him. “Was that an invitation to come back?”

Mickey quirked his head back. “Hey, you insisted.” After a beat, Mickey added, “Last night. Said you’d be over here pounding away at my ass 24/7. Can’t go breaking promises like that. Looking forward to that shit.” 

Ian blanked. “Really? What all did I say?” Mickey eyed him humorously, as if waiting for Ian to roll out the punchline. 

“I mean, I remember most of it…” he leaned in and pressed soft kisses from Mickey's collarbone to his jawline. “The best parts.” He smirked, letting the water glide around his hands as he smoothed them under Mickey’s thighs and gripped them tight. 

Mickey huffed in disbelief and touched the back of his knuckle to his nose. “You serious? You really don’t… okay.” He grinned knowingly. “Alright. You uh, you told me you were a boy scout when it came to wearing condoms, and that I was the only dude you’ve ever barebacked.” He grabbed Ian’s bare ass cheeks and pulled him closer. “Wanna walk that one back, Pinocchio?”

Ian’s face dropped. “….We didn’t wear any condoms?” Mickey cocked an eyebrow and looked down to where Ian held Mickey’s thighs in his hands. “We never pause long enough to get to that point.” He listed off on his fingers, “Not in the car last night, not when we got to bed, not when we woke up this morning, and unless you got some sorta magic trick where you pull a Trojan out of your ass, it looks like we’re going for round four of you riding me without a saddle.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t panic that Ian felt. Of all of the mistakes he’s made in his past, neglecting to use a condom was never one of them. Looking into Mickey’s clear eyes, the scenario almost felt like an inevitability. “I’m clean. I promise you. I’ve never risked that before, with anyone. Not even black out drunk… hell, I’ve woken up still wearing a condom before.” 

Mickey shrugged. “It’s been a long while since I’ve been anywhere near any other dude’s cock, so I know I don’t have anything. And I tested myself regularly back when I was. But I never let a guy bareback me before; not like I knew where those guys had been.” 

He inhaled sharply. “I was pretty sure you wouldn’t knowingly bang me condom-free if you had something, you know?” He looked off awkwardly, and Ian jumped in before he could continue.

“I wouldn’t!” He pressed his lips to Mickey’s and lifted one of his hands to cup the side of the brunet’s face. “You can trust me, Mick.”

Mickey hummed softly, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he bit his teeth into it. “So, I guess we should probably just stick to fucking each other, then.” 

Ian’s face rose in surprise. “Huh?” 

“You know, for the health and safety of the public, and shit, right?” He grinned, and held eye contact as he snaked his ankles around Ian’s hips. “If we’re gonna be going at it with no rubbers, we should keep it simple and just bang each other.” 

He tilted his head back in that sexy, challenging stare he employed at will. Ian grinned wide in astonishment at Mickey’s methods of proposing monogamous sex.

“Alright, Mick, just you and me.”

Ian lowered them further down into the bubbling water as Mickey ran an open palm down the hard planes of his lover’s chest. He enveloped Mickey tightly with one arm as he used his other hand to line up his cock where he wanted it. 

Without warning he thrust hard enough to bottom out, pulling a shocked gasp from the older man. Ian’s eyes grew dark and his chest filled with a heavy possessive emotion he only now recognized in himself.

Feeling an aggressive need to dominate coming over him, Ian let the word linger in his mind as he pulled out slowly and slammed into Mickey with effort.

_Mine._

The buoyancy of the water slowed Ian’s thrusts, but made it easier to keep Mickey in position. He ground his hips and made pointed pulses. 

Mickey bit back his moans, and Ian let his predatory desires unleash. He threaded his fingers through Mickey’s hair and yanked his head back. Mickey squeezed tight around Ian’s shaft and keened loudly. “Let me hear you, Mick.”

Mickey pulled his head up despite Ian’s grip and looked at him with wild eyes. He panted, “Again. Pull my hair harder. Fuck!” Ian obliged, drawing louder, prolonged groans out of his lover.

After what felt like ages, Ian felt a familiar pull in his gut. Wrapping an arm around both of Mickey’s shoulders behind his neck and holding the other one tight around his waist, he pulled the brunet downwards repeatedly, bobbing him up and down onto his throbbing cock. Mickey buried his face into Ian’s neck and screamed as he came hard.

Ian was moments behind him, and held a deep breath to feel the full effects of his climax. He clutched Mickey tight in his arms as they rode out their highs, letting the warmth of the hot tub carry them away into post-coital bliss.


	7. The Agony and the Ecstacy

He watched as the increasingly hostile brunet in front of him ran through a series of facial tics and subtle gestures, feeling his own frustrations bubble to the surface.

"Oh, I'm the asshole now?" He chuckled and nudged his nose with his "K" knuckle. "That's funny, cause I thought you understood how this was gonna go. Guess that does make me an asshole, now, don't it?" 

Shoving his hands in his pockets and biting his bottom lip, he stared ahead unblinkingly. “Must make us both some real fucking idiots, thinking this was ever gonna work.”

He huffed and ran long, pale fingers through his flaming red hair. "I've earned the right to call my own shots--" he ignored the derisive laughter he got in response and continued, "And I thought that you coming here was going to mean something big, something important... But all I'm doing now is holding my tongue and listening to you make all the demands!" He swallowed heavily as his words dried up in his throat, “All we ever do is fight!” 

The older co-worker marched up into his personal space and pressed his broad chest against his own, letting the psychical threat linger in his piercing blue eyes. 

"That's cause I'm more respected. I've seen more shit than you. Those guys out there?" he pointed through a large window with the blinds still slanted open for all to see inside, "They know my name for a reason. I've climbed my way up the ladder one step at a time, because this job means something to me. I'm not some big shot that's still trying to rocket his way to the top with nothing more than a pretty face and a big fuckin’ mouth."

He took in a deep, shaky breath and stared down into a cold gaze. "I thought we were supposed to be a team..."

His partner stared back with a glaring, cruel intensity he had never experienced from another man. "Guess that's why I'm lead detective and you're still straddling desk duty, Watterson. Now shut the fuck up and get out of my office." 

They stared each other down until the loud "CUT!" projected out into the room. The heaving chests shook softly with laughter as the eye contact turned dark, and Mickey's cheeks flushed pink.

Ian grinned harder as the round of applause from their costars and crew members echoed in from outside. 

He nodded to himself knowingly. The producers had brought in some quality talent this season, but the raw emotion in Mickey’s performances kept drawing something out of him. He thrived on the challenge of keeping up. 

And every time their characters had heated moments like this, Ian found that it kept something else up, as well. He cleared his throat as he adjusted himself just out of view of the onlookers. Glancing back in Mickey’s direction was a mistake; the eternal tease was tonguing the inside corner of his mouth, grinning salaciously.

Ian glanced town at Mickey’s tented pants. “You think so, huh? Easy for you, with your back turned to every—“

“You’re still mic’d.” Mickey glanced down to where the audio receiver was clipped to the inside of Ian’s button-down. He sniffed and looked around the office. 

To Ian’s relief, Mickey’s tongue was still tracing the inside of his cheek, casting furtive glances at Ian’s hardening cock, fighting for dominance against his slacks.

“Alright, boys, that’s a wrap for this scene. Thank you.” Ian ignored the movement of the set crew outside the office windows as memories of the past weekend replayed in his mind. Mickey’s tongue swirling around him, his warm, wet mouth engulfing the length of him. A lazy Sunday afternoon spent fucking on the couch while letting the comedy movie marathon they started continue unnoticed. The way Mickey would squeeze his strong thighs around Ian’s hips as he plowed him into the cushions. Their tongues battling for dominance as he pulled louder, longer moans out of his lover.

“Ay!” Mickey snapped his fingers twice, inches from Ian’s eyes. “Gallagher, you with us?” Ian came out of his trance in time for the production aide to stroll through the open door, carrying a clip board and an outstretched hand. “Hey, guys, great work! Just need your microphones and you’re both free for lunch. Ian, Don said that they’re bumping your scene with Amaya ahead to early this afternoon, so they’ll be retaining you on set. Anything I can have ordered in?”

“I’ll just grab something from craft services… thanks, though.” He smiled shyly, moving his hands to cover his crotch. 

“Wow…that’s so refreshing to hear. You’re just like one of us!” She beamed at Ian in adoration. “We don’t get such down-to-earth celebrities on this lot too often…” Mickey chuckled to himself. “Yeah, you’re a real boy scout, Gallagher.” 

“Wanna come run lines with me in my trailer, Milkovich?” Ian smirked, catching Mickey before he could make his next smart comment. “You know, help me step up my game, as an actor?”

Mickey froze, eyes darting repeatedly towards the aide standing quietly to his side. He bit the inside of his cheek, regarding the redhead questioningly. “Need help that badly, huh?”

Ian caught the dare in his eyes and reciprocated with his own. “Absolutely. I have so much to learn from someone as successful as you. God, what I wouldn’t give to have a career like yours… I’d be honored.”

He paused to enjoy Mickey’s non-plussed expression before continuing. “And I thought that maybe you could give me some pointers, from your own hands-on experience? Maybe some tips? Or maybe I could give you some tips…”

“Yeah, okay Gallagher, we get it.” He blushed heavily at the double entendre. “You wanna run lines. Let’s go.” He handed his audio equipment to the aide and walked out of the office, looking both ways as if entering a crosswalk, and strolled off the lot. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ian found Mickey loitering in front of his trailer with his arms crossed and wearing a cute pout. He was instantly overcome with the desire to kiss that pout right off of his face.

“A’ight, Red”, Mickey called out to the empty trailer cluster. “Let’s rehearse some lines like you asked me to.”

“You know no one can hear you over here, right?” Ian laughed deeply at the attempt.

“Ain’t nobody’s business what we do.”

“You know you’ve been in my trailer several times already, right? 

“Yeah, maybe…but we ain’t here to run lines.” He smiled his signature cocky smile with half-lidded eyes, and turned to open Ian’s trailer door. He stood in place and watched Mickey round ass saunter through the doorway.

Mickey was pacing in front of Ian’s dining table with his hands in his pockets when Ian joined him inside, thumbing his bottom lip as he made eye contact with the younger actor. 

Ian remained standing in front of the closed door, tilting his head to the side as he watched him chew at his bottom lip. 

There was a steadfast focus in Mickey’s eyes… a quiet determination that had Ian hesitant. Something felt off. “You okay, Mick?”

“Fine. We gonna do this or what?” His shoulders tensed as he stepped into the miniature kitchen to reach for Ian’s pack of cigarettes. 

“We don’t have to do anything. We could just make out.”

“Didn’t say I didn’t want to do anything…” Ian considered the brunet for a moment as he helped himself to a deep drag from Ian’s cigarette. He took a series of slow steps forward until he was crowding Mickey’s personal space. 

He let his gaze travel up Mickey’s toned body from his dress shoes to his tie, lingering repeatedly on his crotch. 

“Really wanted to suck your dick earlier, when we were filming… watching you get all pissy does things to me.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Does things to you, huh?” 

“Yeah, like when you act like a cranky, pissy old man. Gets me fucking hard.”

“Old man?” He took a step backwards, and Ian closed in, licking his lips. “You seem a little pissy right now, in fact.” The words came out smoothly as Ian breathed out in soft pant.

Mickey pulled another inhale from the cigarette, flicking it and placing in in the ashtray on the counter. He blew out a plume of smoke in Ian’s direction, and then surprised him by lunging forward and tackling his midsection. Ian stumbled backwards into the table, catching the ledge with his back. 

“Think you can take me, huh?” he laughed, wrenching his arm around Mickey’s back and pulling him to the floor, straddling Mickey’s hips as he moved to put Ian in a headlock. He gripped Mickey’s wrists and held them up over his head, grinning down at the brunet wickedly. 

Mickey hoisted his leg and wrapped his calf around Ian’s throat, pushing in hard and cutting off his air supply. As Ian lifted one hand to free himself, Mickey ran his fingertips up the side of Ian’s ribcage underneath his shirt, tickling him and knocking Ian off balance. In a flash he was up and straddling the younger man, who was struggling to maintain an upright position. 

He pressed his elbow to Ian’s sternum and leaned in with all of his body weight. Ian slumped to the floor, helpless as Mickey held his chest down with his broad forearm, propping himself up onto his knees.

“What now, bitch?” He panted with delight, using his free hand to quickly unfasten Ian’s pants. He slid his hand into Ian’s boxer briefs and rested his palm over the tip of Ian’s stiff cock. He began to rotate in small circles, letting the hot precum slick the engorged knob as he twisted his wrist in a polishing motion. 

Ian’s eyes drifted shut as he made small, sharp gasps under Mickey’s ministrations. His eyes lingered on Ian’s mouth, slightly opened and panting; his brows beginning to furrow. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, keep doing that…” He bucked his hips up in feeble thrusts, letting the sensations run through him.

When Mickey shifted his weight back to remove his arm from Ian’s chest, his eyes fluttered open. Locking green eyes with blue, Ian reached towards Mickey’s crotch, caressing his hard-on through the fabric of his pants. “I need to suck on it. Please. Fuck, Mick, I want to so bad…”

The wording lifted Mickey out of his trance, pausing his hand where it was. He glanced around him, and Ian could sense his lover’s irrational fears beginning to trickle back to the surface. “Let’s stay down here. On the floor.” He willed himself not to look up at the closed window, blinds still tilted shut.

He pulled Mickey on top of him, rubbing his ass cheeks softly. He lowered his voice to a whisper, acutely aware of the delicate state of Mickey’s anxieties. “Shhhhh… C’mere.” Mickey leaned in to kiss Ian’s pink lips as he eased Mickey’s pants down and away from his hips. 

Ian pumped away at Mickey’s thick shaft, skipping past all pretense and build up, jerking his cock with abandon. Finally getting to fist fuck Mickey in his trailer had Ian feeling urgent in his desires; he was well past the point of taking it slow.

Before he could get a word in, Mickey had kicked his pants off and crawled up to level his hips with Ian’s mouth. Angling himself downwards, he slipped his rock hard erection in between Ian’s soft lips, moaning as the wet hot heat enveloped him.

Feeling equally amorous, Mickey’s hips picked up speed as he thrust into Ian’s pliable and willing throat, plunging as deep as the redhead would allow. “How do you feel THIS fucking good?” he groaned, loudly enough that Ian felt a prideful hope swell in his chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Cupping Mickey’s ass cheeks with both hands, Ian let one hand trail towards his crack, running a fingertip towards Mickey’s entrance. Pressing a single digit in, he found it to be as slick as it was hot.

Pressing Mickey’s hips up so he could free his mouth to speak, Ian looked at Mickey quizzically. “Are you already prepped? Were you ready for me this whole time we were shooting, since this morning?”

“Uh…” Mickey fought his euphoria-induced haze to focus on stringing a response together. “Yeah, just jerked it is all. You know, morning wood?” He took shallow breaths as his arms wobbled with the strain of holding him up. “I use both hands, man, otherwise what’s the fucking point? You know?” Ian’s eyes grew darker as his jaw grew slack with the implications. 

Mickey sniffed, “We done talking now, or…?”

Ian responded by flipping Mickey onto his back and spreading his legs open wide. “You’re telling me you finger yourself open every morning while you jack off?” His throbbing cock was leaking over the images that conjured. “So I could just pull you down onto my cock any time I want, and you’d be ready to take it?” 

Something flickered in Mickey’s blue eyes. His breath caught in his throat as Ian pressed himself against Mickey’s tight sphincter. “Ian…” his voiced cracked with need. “Do it.”

Ian gripped himself and pushed in just an inch or two, enough to squeeze his way inside. He gently rocked his hips back and forth, not giving Mickey any more of his length than the tip.

“Ian, fuck me. C’mon…” Ian gripped Mickey’s ankles and sat up straight, easing the tip back slowly, teasing it inside, and pulling it back out again. He continued, watching the desperation play over Mickey’s expressive features. “Don’t you fucking do this to me, Ian.” He dug his fingernails into Ian’s back. “Come on, fuck me with that giant cock.“ 

Ian thrust in with all of his body weight, forcing himself to bottom out quickly. Mickey squeezed his eyes shut, coiling his arms around Ian and holding on for dear life as he pounded into Mickey’s ass mercilessly. 

It only took a few more minutes of ramming into Mickey’s prostate before the older man began squirming underneath him. “Fuck, Ian, you’re gonna make me come!”  
Ian buried his face into Mickey’s neck, trying to hold on a few moments longer. He felt himself tightening up just as Mickey bit into his own arm, stifling the loud, muffled scream. Ian came hard, thrusting with abandon as his orgasm peaked to the sounds of Mickey’s bliss.

They laid tangled up together on the floor until they both properly caught their breaths. Ian looked up from his spot on the floor, immobilized from the chest down. His trailer looked so much smaller, now. Less imposing... conquered.

“So… I guess trailer sex wasn’t so bad after all, huh Mick?” He could sense Mickey flipping him off before it came into his peripheral vision. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”  
Mickey laughed to himself. “Good luck slapping your limp dick around on set for the next hour.”

Ian reached his hand towards Mickey’s, entwining their fingers together. “My dick was always going to be limp for that.” 

Mickey chewed on his lip, muttering softly, “No one can know about this. Here, I mean. That we did this here. I…” He trailed off, hoping Ian was already picking up on his unspoken words. 

Ian knew what he needed from him, squeezing Mickey’s hand tighter inside of his own. “This is just you and me, Mick. I’ve got you, okay? Just you and me.”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Ian reclined into his set chair, scrolling through his messages yet again, coming up empty. He yawned into the silky sleeve of his robe. 

When Ian looked up from his phone, he saw Amaya talking with their episode director, Eric. He hopped out his chair, pocketing his phone as he trotted over.

"Finally! Was wondering when you'd show up! You didn’t message me back." He wrapped his arms around Amaya from behind, eliciting a sharp yelp from his petite costar. 

She flinched as he pulled his arms away, turning a flushed cheek over her shoulder. "Ian! Hey..." She rotated around slowly. She rested a hand on his forearm in apology, "Sorry, they're still a little sore."

His question caught in his throat as he looked down. Her noticeably larger chest had more than doubled in size, leaving her top-heavy and wincing uncomfortably.  
"I just got these done over the weekend... I know you're supposed to wait until you've got a couple of weeks free to recover, but we're going to be shooting for the next couple of months solid. I didn't have the time to wait...but the clinic was amazing, and they had the most beautiful recovery room!"

"This was for the Adam Sandler audition?"

"Well, he wasn't going to be there in person, but this is the last round before they finalize casting...this is my last chance."

He forced a small smile. "Sure. I'll bet they look great."

"Well..." She grimaced as she unfastened the belt of her robe. "They're still pretty swollen...the doctor said the inflammation should've gone down by now." Ian swallowed hard as her robe slid aside to reveal blotchy red skin over puffy, misshapen breast tissue. He was surprised she could even move her arms, at this rate. Bumping them must've been excruciating.

"Oh god, are they that bad? Is it that noticeable?" She stared up at Ian's stunned expression. "They're hideous, aren't they? Fuck, I thought they'd be more healed up by now..."

Ian lifted his eyebrows in attempted sincerity. "I'm sure it'll be fine. They just look a little...sore?"

"Ian, be honest with me. Do they look monstrous or something? Do they need more concealer?" 

"It looks..." He sighed. "Really fucking painful, Maya. I get it, you know? But fuck Adam Sandler, or your manager, or whoever told you to go back to work after getting a fucking surgery over the weekend." She clasped her hands together and nodded as he continued, "I mean, you should be in recovery still! Does your doctor know you're about to shoot this scene? We’re supposed to be bouncing around, and… Are you supposed to be doing an aggressive scene like this right now?"

"Ian, it's fine."

"We need to reschedule this."

"We're good actors." She rubbed his arm soothingly. "And this scene has you blocking me from view of the camera, so it's not like they're going to see them..." She looked down. "...Like this. We won't have another sex scene this week, so they'll have time to heal."

Ian looked sheepish. "I'll try not to squish them, okay? I'll be really careful."

"Don't hold back on me, Ian. This is our big moment to shine." Her smile sparkled. “Watching your naked ass fucking around in bed is what keeps the viewers coming back.”

"You know what I mean..." He disrobed, pulling back the top sheet and settling onto the bed. "I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m a tough girl, Ian. Don’t worry about me.” She smiled up at him sincerely. “Now get into your headspace. We need to knock this out of the park.”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"That was incredible!" He flopped back onto his pillow and adjusted the sheet around them. "You're incredible."

"You're distracted, papi. Porque? Talk to me." She sighed deeply and relaxed into her pillow. "Your partner again, si? Aaron, tell me you squared things with him today, he’s your superior..."

"I talked to him, he's just got his head so far up his ass that-" The crackle of the director's megaphone caught him off guard.

"Amaya, we're going to have you pull the sheet down to waist-height. Right below your navel." She peeled the sheet down until it reached her hip bones. "That's great. Alright, we're still rolling..."

Ian schooled his expression and started again. "I talked to him, he's just got his head so far up his ass that nothing I say is going to matter. I don't matter." He sighed heavily. "He's supposed to be this great detective! He's going to blow this case, and I'll be back to pushing papers again."

She looked him in the eye and spoke with conviction, "He is a great detective, but so are you! You could learn so much from each other, baby, but you have got to--"

The crackling cut her off, "Squeeze your upper arms into your chest, like you’re trying to fluff them up more. The camera needs to see them really pop out." Ian's face dropped, turning his deadly stare in the direction of the Eric, seated comfortably in the director's chair. One seat over, the executive producer Don Fount sat quietly, observing. 

"We need to FEEL your attraction to each other in this scene... Amaya, angle yourself completely towards the camera, so we can get a better front view." Ian heard a quiet whimper as she pressed her chest together from the sides. "Is this okay? More?" 

Ian felt her trembling next to him as she maintained a smile and tilted her arms into her chest with more pressure.

"Cut!" Ian yelled, throwing the sheets off of himself and stalking towards his producer, entirely unaffected by the fact that he was nude.

He diverted his eyes from the director and addressed his boss directly. "Don, she just had surgery. Can we just go easy this time? Let her cover up with the sheet? She's in pain."

Eric responded, "There's no way we're not taking advantage of those things. I know you're not into tits, but--"

Don cut in, "Ian, each of you signed the same clause in your contracts stating that you acknowledge and accept our stance on nudity. The expectations here were made perfectly clear. Are you saying that Amaya isn’t comfortable fulfilling her obligations?" 

Ian was taken aback. “Whoa, Don, listen, she’s fine with it… I mean, she’s not, she’s barely begun recovering from a fucking surgery, but she’s not complaining at all… I just think that—“

“I understand what you’re saying, Ian, I do. But we are on a tight schedule, and we need to keep this shoot moving. We’re already behind, and every minute wasted here is costing us money.” 

Ian tittered, wanting to ensure that the matter was resolved before returning to the scene. He leaned in close and lowered his voice, "Have you seen them? She hasn't even had a chance to heal, yet. This would humiliate her. I'm just asking you to think about her image as an actress, you know?" He looked at Don with a pleading look in his eyes.

“No one forced her to get implants in the first place, did they?” Eric cackled at her expense, shaking his head.

“Don, all I’m asking is that we not put her in more pain than she’s already in. It’s cruel!”

“She’s a big girl, Ian, and she made her own choices. Frankly, I’m glad she finally took my advice. You think I don’t care about your guys’ career trajectories, but believe me when I say she will benefit from this.”

Ian mulled over Don’s words in his head. “Wait… you told her to get them? You knew she was doing this, and then you bumped up this scene so she’d have to film it on her first day back?”

Don stared quietly at Ian. Eric leaned in to whisper into Don’s ear, cracking himself up as her looked back at the bed, eyeing the half-naked actress waiting nervously for her cue.

“I’m covering her up. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but at least one of us knows how to be a real man.”

The producer bristled. "Eric, hand me that, would you?" He extended his hand towards the megaphone, yanking it away briskly and speaking into it for all to hear, "Amaya, are you uncomfortable filming this scene?"

She looked startled and replied, "No! No, I'm fine, Don, really!" 

"Is it your preference that we cut this scene altogether? Or are you able to handle your job today?" The set grew quiet as heads turned in her direction. Ian gaped in shock as she responded with a meek, "I'm sorry, Don. I'm fine, I promise!" 

Ian grinded his teeth together, stunned speechless. Don addressed the mortified crew, “Are we ready on set?" Everyone moved back into position. 

"What the fuck, Don? She didn't ask me to say anything. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Are you or are you not ready to do your job here, Ian?” 

He stuck out his chin and stared the showrunner down, willing himself to unclench his fists and walk away before he said something he regretted.

He turned on his heels and had just begun walking away when he heard Eric say, "If those FrankenTits don’t pull in more viewers, I don’t know what will. If I could name those things, I'd call them 'Ratings' and 'Boosters'." He laughed at his own joke. 

Ian paused and took a deep breath. For a split second, he considered the ramifications of what he was about to do, before turning around and storming back to them. 

"Here's how this is going to go: You shut the fuck up and let us do our jobs, or I file a very public complaint with HR over this uncapped sexual harassment." He turned to Don, "And maybe you’re into getting off on watching women in pain while they’re battered and bruised, but I doubt our viewers are as fucked up as you two.” 

He added before walking away, “And if you take this shit out on her, or retaliate by cutting her scenes, I walk, and you can find yourself a new lead actor."

With that, he power walked back to the bed and laid down next to his costar, resuming their splayed position.

He reached down for the sheet, pulling it up and delicately placing it over her chest. He looked up at Don. "Ready when you are."


	8. Daylight and Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian meets with Gail for a Sunday morning brunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a lot of additional things included in the end notes... a lot.
> 
> Oh! And I have a Tumblr. https://nicrenkel.tumblr.com/

 

“…And so the room service arrives and the bellhop is standing there with his jaw on the floor. One of the biggest stars in the world, fully nude, confident as fuck, and the bellhop—Brian, nice kid—he looks past him and sees two naked guys in their twenties in his bed waiting for him. And of course he just smirks, winks at him, and says to Brian, ‘Where’s the harm in having a little fun?’ The man is my fucking hero. Always has been, always will be.”

“Why doesn’t he just come out as bisexual? He’s untouchable. Doubt he’d lose any roles over it.”

“For as balls-out as he seems, he’s actually been really careful about keeping his private shit private. That happened right before his last stint in rehab, so you can’t really blame him for that one… plus, he’s happily married to his wife, now, so I guess it’s irrelevant.”

“Bullshit. If he came out… fuck, he’s been a god since before I was born. I think he’d get MORE famous, if that’s even possible.”

“He’d be more beloved”, Gail nodded, gazing out at the leafy green walls of plants separating their outdoor dining area from Sunset Boulevard. “He’d get an enormous bump in the media, sure, but it wouldn’t make him more powerful. He’s one in a million, Ian. Any big name, A+ list actor could come out as sexually fluid, and it’d make a big impact. Why do you think they’re not doing it?”

Ian shrugged his shoulders in bemused wonder. 

“Cause none of them want to go first. There are still too many small minds in the world.”

“That’s what I don’t get. What could they possibly be afraid of? They could retire on the millions they’ve got now.”

“All of this social progress has really been in the last decade, when you think about it. He got big in the 80’s, which wasn’t that long ago, where it was typical to hear ‘faggot’ coming from the mouths of the protagonists. The guys you’re supposed to be rooting for.” 

Ian stared at her blankly. She persisted, “The lead male character? The dreamy, cool, funny ones people are supposed to swoon over? The good guys? Bashing on random characters that show the tiniest ounce of nerdy or timid behavior… since that somehow qualified them as pole-smoking queers, they were open for public mockery and humiliation.” She shifted back in her seat and deadpanned. “Really brings a community together.”

The phone buzzing in his pocket drew their attention. “Loverboy’s welcome to join us anytime, Ian.”

He smirked as he fished for his phone. “Nah, can’t be him. I left him sprawled out and satisfied. Doubt he could even lift an arm to—oh.” His expression lifted in surprise as he read the new texts. He clicked the screen off and hurriedly drew the phone to his lap. A pink blush spread across his cheeks.

“How’s that going, anyway? Don’t hold out on me.” Gail smirked good naturedly.

His face split into a warm smile. “He wants me to end our meeting and come home. Heh! He’s, uh, pretty convincing.” Ian cocked an eyebrow for good measure.

“Dick pics over brunch, huh?” Gail grinned deviously. “So…’home’? When did this happen?”

“Oh, shit, no. Not _home_ home. We’ve been spending so much time at his place, his home, that it’s become like a second home to me.” He fumbled with his phone as it continued to vibrate. “He doesn’t want to do anything physical at work, so we spend most nights at his place. I mean, there was that one time” he offered, as he simultaneously saved an incoming photo to his permanent folder, “but not since then. We’d rather keep things private. You know, off-set, I guess.”

Ian stuffed the still-buzzing phone back into his pocket and sat up straight, giving her his full attention. His shit-eating grin widened as the notifications tickled the inside of his hip.

“Big change, being in a relationship?”

“I’ve never had one before. Not really.” He smiled a small smile. “Never wanted one until Mickey. And now it’s like the life I’ve been trying to avoid, being tied down and monogamous, is suddenly the one I really want. I don’t even think of other guys like that. Not anymore.” He picked at the napkin in front of him absentmindedly. “Didn’t think I’d ever have this kind of connection with someone, like I do with him.” 

“Well, you look really fucking happy, Ian.” She smiled back, shaking her head as his dopey expression magnified. “Speaking of sets, how’s Don been treating you lately? I’m not going to have to dust off my Uzi just to keep his ass in line, am I?” 

“Nope. It’s been a few weeks, and nothing’s come up. He hasn’t said much to me. Any of us, really. He just kinda hangs back and stares, mostly.”

“He stands around staring at you?”

“At Mickey.” 

Gail nodded slowly. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, deliberating quietly. 

The phone in his pocket vibrated again; knowing that it was Mickey sent a deep pulsing sensation straight to his groin. His hand paused at his side as it reached for it, willing itself to behave. In an instant, he had the device in his palm and had clicked the screen back on, scrolling eagerly through his new texts. His eyes lingered on the last one. 

**Mickey: (4/4) was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Want you to do it again.**

It was immediately followed by an expertly angled shot of his thick cock standing at attention; his hand gripping around the base in a tight fist.

**Mickey: Can’t stop thinking about it**

Ian clicked his phone shut without replying, already flushed at the growing erection forming under the table. As he stuffed his phone back into his pocket, he willed himself not to check it again until his meeting was finished. Mickey was a hard habit to break, and he knew how to keep Ian glued to his side.

“Holy fucking shit!” Gail leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. “Do you see that table over there, by the waitress with the tight ass and the blonde ponytail?”

Ian squinted. “Is that Elijah Wood?” He bowed his head in impressed surprise. “From Lord of the Rings? Frodo? Haven’t seen those movies since my brother Carl was a kid. He made me watch those battle scenes over and over… Got his hands on a crossbow, and got into some shit; almost got himself hauled off to juvie. My sister was fucking the neighborhood cop, though, so he worked everything out.”

When Gail didn’t stir, Ian continued. “And, uh, my sister Fiona likes him, too. Still has these VHS tapes from when she was really little. Uh, Deep Impact? Flipper? The Adventures of Huck Finn; she said that was his first movie.”

“It was Back to the Future Part II, but that’s not the point—“

“Lip liked him in Wilfred, but he said that Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was— wait, he was in Back to the Future?“

She laid a soft hand over his wrist. “Ian…”

She wore an uncharacteristically forlorn expression. “He’s considering coming forward to talk about child molestation, and the systematic cover-ups… Like, actually coming forward publicly about it.” Her words held a disconsolate tone that made Ian uncomfortable. 

“You mean, he’s gonna name people? The guys doing it?”

“The _people_ doing it. And no, god no. I think he has enough people in his life looking out for him to let him take it that far.” 

“You mean he’s just gonna say that it happens? That’s not news.”

“It’s a risk. The people that have stood by and allowed it to happen for all these years—“

“You mean decades?”

“—longer, are just as responsible. These are their colleagues, business partners, friends. They want to be left alone to do whatever the fuck they want and make money with monsters. They don’t want to be held accountable, and they sure as hell don’t want to hear about it in the news.”

Ian watched as the bright-eyed actor pored carefully over the paper clutched tightly in his hand, speaking hushed tones to the girl seated at the opposite end of her table. She looked just as crestfallen as Gail.

“Why would anyone not report something like that?”

“This isn’t just one incident we’re talking about, here. Look, every country in the world has evil people who do fucked up shit, right? But think of what it means to be a child actor in Hollywood. All sorts of powerful adults in your life, minimal supervision… a lot of these kids were ‘mentored’ by adults they saw as parental figures, people they trusted and wanted to impress. People who said all of the right things to make them feel good about themselves in a job where every role you get is based on whether or not you’re attractive enough. So of course they’re going to be confused when they’re encouraged to maintain the secrets of people who don’t have any of their best interests at heart. So involved in their own demons that they don’t even see or care how their actions affect these kids…” Her brown eyes grew dark as she added, “And then some of them know exactly what they’re doing, and they enjoy it.”

She shifted her weight onto her arms and looked him directly in the eye. “There have been a few former child stars in my lifetime that were in the process of coming forward with their own experiences, but they all died of drug overdoses before they had a chance to.”

Ian looked down at his hands, folded together in his lap. “Yeah, I mean… that kind of thing would fuck me up, too.” He knew in his mind that his experiences were different; that he was more of an adult at 15 than most kids, and that he had all the power when it came to his interactions with older men.

His experiences were unrelated to what Gail was describing. He wasn’t misled, and he wasn’t seduced. He was always the one in control… wasn’t he? 

“But” Gail sighed, “Like with everything else, he’d risk losing a lot. The studios that ignored or covered up these things would blacklist him, and it’d be hard for him to find jobs. The media and his fans would support him, sure, but he’d be done as an actor. It’d run too deep; too many players would be affected.” She spoke as if this were a foregone conclusion.

Ian felt a foreign pressure welling up in his chest. “Well… it’d be worth it. I mean, if people like that really are holding power over him, and they blacklist him or whatever, then he’d be a hero for doing it anyway. He’d know he did the right thing.”

“But would it change anything?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Wouldn’t it? You think no one would care?”

“People care about new issues in the headlines every day. How often does anyone actually do anything about it?” He stared ahead, his brows furrowed in disbelief. “How often do you hear people discussing, angrily and with passion, how wrong such and such current event is, and how politicians should pass or support certain proposals, and law enforcement should do this, and communities should do that… People love discussing things, but how often does action follow their convictions?”

For as much time as Ian spent perusing his social media accounts, he knew he couldn’t deny that she was right. It does seem like most people wait around for things to change on their own.

“So you think he shouldn’t do it?”

“He absolutely should. And so should anyone who’s had something like that happen to them. Or known someone who’s been through it. When people band together, there’s more of an impact. Less risk. One day, they really will be able to name the abusers.” She glanced back up in the direction of his table. “He’s willing to stand on his own to start moving justice in the right direction. What he’s doing is incredible.”

Ian watched her expression fade into one of deep respect and resolution. The weight of her words dawned on him; that the likelihood of anyone being held responsible based on the words of one actor who hadn’t experienced these things personally was extremely slim. He felt uncomfortable in the realization that, had it been him in that position, he might not have come forward. Would he really risk his career, his livelihood, just to have nothing change for the better? 

 

A third chair plopped down to his left. “Tyler? What are you doing here?” 

His handsome roommate smiled in response, his chunky sunglasses adding an air of unintended humor to his otherwise charming demeanor. “Joining my bestest friend in the universe at the Chateau Mormont, also known as paparazzi central.” He looked over both shoulders, hoping to spot a camera lens to flirt into.

“Right, I told Dylan about that last night. Fuck.” Ian ran his hand over his face. “Gail, this is my roommate Tyler. Uh… is it cool if he joins us?”

Her confident smile and sure-fire wit were fixed as if they had never left. “Tyler Ramirez, of Resisting the Urge fame. What a pleasure.”

Ian cut off Tyler’s cheesy response before it formed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Dylan with you?”

Tyler nodded affirmatively. “He and Greg are getting drinks.” He glanced to his right, at a man seemingly perusing several pages of leafy newspaper. “Who reads print these days? Not digital, not buying it.” He stuck his tongue out and raised both fists into devil’s horns in the stranger’s direction. The man turned the page and scanned the left side of it, seemingly unaware.

“Not buying it, old man!” he shouted in the stranger’s direction, rubbing his nipples through his shirt for emphasis. Gail burst into raucous laughter as Ian buried his face in his hands in embarrassment. 

Tyler continued, “Is it you, Football Jersey at the single table? Really? Into Sunday brunch, are you? You’re fooling no one!” He wrapped his arms around Ian’s neck and planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek. “Eat it up, TMZ!” 

Ian groaned. “You’re painful. This is why we don’t take you out in public.” He wiped the saliva off his cheek with feigned annoyance.

His phone drew his attention away from the antics around him, returning his thoughts to Mickey. The man wasn’t one to text much, so the continued humming of notifications at his hip indicated that Ian was missing out on some pretty intense sexting.

He stood up from his chair with a start. “I gotta poop.” 

“Tell him we said ‘Hi’”, Gail said with a sly grin, glancing down at Ian’s pocket. 

He couldn’t put anything past her.

He smirked as the phone continued vibrating, and hurried off to locate the restrooms.

 

Entering the interior restaurant section of the hotel, he turned and twisted his way through rows of tables and chairs, head bobbing side to side in search of the “Restrooms” sign. The occasional diner would glance in his direction, but no one approached him or tried to start a conversation. Gail was right; people aren’t here to see, they’re here to _be_ seen. 

He was relieved to find the men’s room to be empty. A long row of stall doors rested in an open position, and he strolled quickly to the spacious one on the end. 

Feeling flushed from his brisk walk, Ian pulled out the intrusive device and sat down, reclining onto the wall behind him. He clicked the screen on, opening his texts to find a video attachment in Mickey’s message.

His finger hesitated over the play button. Confident that he was alone in the surrounding stalls, he opened the video.

Tattooed fingers ran lightly along the length of Mickey’s thick shaft, squeezing at the base. He began pumping slowly, drawing an audible moan from the brunet.

Mickey didn’t show his face in the frame, but Ian could already picture what he looked like with every twist of his wrist. 

His straining erection pushed up at the fabric of his pants, desperate to be freed. He pressed the heel of his palm against it, applying pressure. 

He pressed play on the video again, feeling himself grow impossibly stiff as Mickey stroked himself teasingly. Ian bucked his hips up, again, and again.

"Fuck it." He undid his pants and letting them fall to his ankles along with his boxers, his business meeting all but forgotten in his mind. 

It occurred to him that Mickey might already be well past the point he was when he recorded the video. His fingers fumbled towards the video call option, hoping the show wasn't already over.

The call buzzed, buzzed, and ended with no response. He frantically ended and started a new video call. "C'mon, c'mon..." 

The screen paused, and changed into a view of Mickey's impressive girth. Staring into the phone, Ian found his hand trailing towards his own already leaking cock.

He pumped slowly, his jaw falling slack. "Mick?" The camera on Mickey’s end was angled carefully to avoid any distinguishing features other than the rock solid dick throbbing untouched. 

"Mickey?" he panted softly. 

"You done yet?" came the gruff reply. His voice was strained. A saliva coated hand made its way back to the pink shaft, massaging with a more moderate grip. 

Ian reversed the view on his phone so that the camera stared straight down at his hand pumping eagerly, silently answering his boyfriend’s question. Mickey chuckled, "I meant your meeting. Brunch time almost over? This thing ain't gonna suck itself..."

"You can't go an hour without my dick in you, can you?" He angled the camera down so that it hovered below the base of his cock, facing upwards to include Ian's besotted expression. The erection covered half of the outgoing call screen, but Ian still saw the miniature reflection of his face looking back at him from the corner. 

"Show me your face, Mickey..." He was building up too fast, spurred on by the spontaneity of the joint jerk off session, as well as the phantom vibrations on the side of his groin from Mickey's insistent texting. 

"I want to see you" the redhead puffed. Mickey's hand stilled, causing a mild panic to form in Ian’s mind. Was Mickey avoiding showing his face? Did he think Ian would show this video around?

The moment stretched on too long for Ian’s comfort. Just then, Mickey's phone dropped flat on to the bed, showing nothing more than the ceiling of Mickey’s bedroom. The sound of sheets shuffling filled the tiny speaker, joined by creaking mattress springs.

Ian bit his tongue, silently willing Mickey to trust him.

The view tilted upwards to the glorious sight of his plump, naked ass cheeks. Ian could tell Mickey had propped his phone against the headboard to free his movements, and he pulled away from it to give Ian a full-body view. 

The back of his muscled thighs parted wide and he braced himself into a doggy-style position with one arm pressed into the mattress. The other hand reached under his stomach for his cock again, tugging at it with renewed vigor.

Ian watched as Mickey’s sinewy back muscles flexed and moved in tandem with his strokes. He could see all of Mickey’s cock between his thighs, as well as his perfect ass. 

Ian rubbed his palm in circles along his leaking tip, spreading the precum down his shaft, envisioning himself balls deep into his boyfriend. Staring hard at the video feed, he mentally placed himself behind Mickey on the sheets, thrusting fervently.

The desire for Mickey to feel the same way was overwhelming. "Finger yourself." 

Mickey paused. The back of his head popped into view above his shoulders as he tilted his face towards his phone. It was just the profile, but Ian’s heart stuttered at the sight of Mickey’s recognizable eyes, nose, chin, and cheekbones. He was already lost on this man.

“That where you wanna see ‘em?” Mickey’s head dropped between his shoulder blades again, chuckling to himself. “You want up my ass then finish your chit chat and get back here.” He wiggled backwards and spread his thighs further apart to give Ian the best view possible. His tight ring squeezed involuntarily as he resumed stroking himself.

Ian felt an overwhelming urge to lick his screen. 

“You want ‘em there, too. Fucking do it.” Ian gasped as his impending orgasm caught up with him. He squeezed at the base, staving it off for as long as he could. He watched Mickey’s machinations in a trance. 

Mickey kept his hand in a defiant vice grip around his cock, but had begun thrusting into his fist with abandon. The moans grew louder as his hips bucked faster. 

Ian tilted his head downwards and spit, adding to the slick precum. The natural lubrication would have been aid enough on its own, but Ian knew he didn’t have much time left. He wanted to make this count.

He released the closed circle his fingers had formed and massaged the saliva-precum swirl around the tip with his palm, pulling the mixture down with him as he resumed his pace.

“Fuuuuuuck, Ian…” The low moan from Mickey caught him off guard. “Yeah, Mick? You feel good, baby? You look so good, gonna make me come so fucking hard…”

Mickey swiveled his hips into every thrust down into the mattress, leaving enough room for Ian to get a good view of his stroking. His keening wasn’t stifled or muted, but openly audible for Ian to hear. He knew exactly what Ian wanted, but only gave him what he chose to.

Ian felt the tightening heat in his gut. “Mickey, please fucking look at me! I want to see your face when we come.”

Ian knew he was moments away from his orgasm. His eyes were pulling themselves shut as the climax approached, and he felt his head tilt up towards the paneled ceiling.

Right as he felt the explosion in his gut starting, he forced his eyes open and looked down at the screen. Mickey was staring back at him, his face in full view, jaw slack and eyebrows furrowed with intense pleasure. 

Ian groaned a prolonged “Fuck!” as his hand kept moving on its own. His vision tunneled, getting blurry and gray from the outside in. He held his gaze on the screen as Mickey came all over the sheets, watching the hot white liquid pour out in spurts. 

The brunet collapsed onto the bed with a few guttural moans still spilling from his throat. “Ian…” 

He didn’t realize he was stroking himself past completion until the oversensitive head jolted him out of his focus. He released his jizz covered hand and sunk back into the wall, letting the chrome piping dig into his back without a care.

He watched longingly as Mickey struggled to push himself off of the bed, his triceps straining with exhausted effort.

Mickey turned to face Ian through the phone still propped against his head board, and looked him in the eye.

“You know what, Gallagher?” Ian’s heaving chest swelled with pride at hearing his name over the device, accompanying the dual shots of their bared bodies. “What’s that, Mick?”

He pressed two fingers into his mouth and sucked hard, sliding them out seductively. “You were right. It does feel much better with something up my ass.” He placed them back in his mouth as he leaned forward and ended the call.

Ian watched, stunned as the video call closed and his text screen reappeared. He huffed a laugh, and shook his head in adoration. Mickey was the only man he’d ever met with a bigger libido than his own.

He looked around as he caught his breath, surveying the mess he’d made in the stall. Pocketing his phone carefully, he wiped his hands, stomach, and groin with the toilet paper at his disposal. 

Having dressed and readied himself, he left the stall carefully, peeking around the door to see if anyone had walked in without him noticing.

Several scattered faces stared back at him, frozen in awkward silence.

 _Well, fuck._

The thought that Mickey Milkovich’s voice was the one calling his name in return to his own ran through his mind. He pushed aside the creeping guilt, knowing that he hadn’t technically spilled their secret to anyone. 

He hadn’t even heard anyone walk in, too lost in the moment. Whatever they may have overheard wasn’t on him, right?

He washed his hands and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked up and met his reflection, a devious, self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face.

 

He made his way through the restaurant and returned to the fresh air of the open yard, looking past the white pillars to find his table. He was unsurprised to see that Dylan and Greg had joined Tyler and Gail, all four of them in a lively, animated discussion. 

He strolled through the tall pillars supporting the antique, Old Hollywood hotel above him.

“Excuse me! Mr. Gallagher?” A familiar voice slowed him in his tracks.

_It couldn’t be…_

He whirled around to locate the source, and found himself looking into the large blue eyes of Frodo Baggins himself.

“…Elijah Wood?”

The shorter actor fidgeted with the sheet in his hands. His polite smile belied the intense anxiety in his gaze.

“Hey…hi. Sorry to bother you, but, I was hoping I could talk to you, for a moment? If you’re not busy.”

Ian had found himself in this position countless times with fans, but had never experienced the same timid, uncertain approach from a famous actor whose career hits spanned his entire lifetime. 

“Not a bother at all. Good to meet you, man. Call me Ian.” He extended out his hand in greeting, his infectious smile beaming on auto-pilot. Gail’s words came back to him as his eyes darted to the paper in the older man’s hands.

He shifted the paper to one hand as he shook Ian’s with the other. “I’m Elijah. It’s really nice to meet you. It’s an honor!” 

“What, meeting me? Shit. It’s an honor to meet _you_! Sin City is one of my favorite movies!”

The older actor half smiled in self-deprecation. “Thanks.” He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I was wondering if I could… get your advice? On something?”

Ian nodded absentmindedly, feigning ignorance. “Sure. What’s up?”

“You’re a hero, to a lot of people, Ian. What you did, standing up for yourself, coming out so boldly, so confidently, well- it really made a big impact, on a lot of us.” 

Ian raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Well, that’s good.” His arms hung dumbly at his side.

“I… I guess that most of us aren’t used to seeing anything like that. It’s like you weren’t afraid. Like no one could control your fate but you. It was inspiring.”

Elijah took a deep breath. “You’ve inspired _me_. I want to be more like that. I want to speak my mind without over-thinking all the time. I don’t want to play it safe anymore. I’ve been…”

The words hung heavily in the air as Ian braced himself for what was coming next.

Elijah shook his head in frustration. “I’ve been thinking about doing something similar. There’s something I need to say.” He glanced at the paper in his hands. “How did you do it? How did you summon the courage to speak out?”

“Me?” Ian swallowed thickly, the weight of his next words bearing down heavily. “Uh… I wasn’t really thinking about it, I just did it. I got fucked over for the last time, and I was tired of it. I didn’t really care what happened after that.”

Elijah nodded with uncertainty. Worry lines deepened between his brows. 

Ian’s face fell at the sight. The uncomfortable pressure from his conversation with Gail shifted inside him, filling his veins with lead.

“Alright, fuck it. Look, if it feels wrong to stay quiet, then don’t. Say what you have to say, because it seems like you really fucking need to. I mean, if it’s important, then it must mean something.” 

He eyed Elijah and chose his words carefully. “Maybe your words will have an impact, too. You seem courageous to me.” He grimaced at how bad he was at giving advice, feeling like his words were so corny that they verged on insulting.

But as the older man’s expression lifted, nodding to himself, Ian realized that he did have something to say on the matter. He continued, “And you’re right. Playing it safe never got me anywhere. I didn’t feel free until I stood up for myself. And other good things came into my life after that…” Stay focused, he chided himself. “If people think that I’m a role model, then maybe everyone should start speaking out. Together, or whatever.”

The hope-filled look Elijah gave him was heartbreaking. 

“And if you don’t say anything,” Ian concluded, “Will it have made anything better?” 

He almost doubled-back at the look of horror that played across the older man’s delicate features.

Ian bit his tongue, and made another bold move of his own. “I’ll support you, with whatever it is. You know, if you say what’s eating at you. I’ll support you. Fuck, we’ve all got to stop being afraid of the shit that could go wrong, you know?” 

Prideful determination spread across the older man’s face. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” His blue eyes sparkled. “I know what I have to do!” 

He looked years younger as the relief visibly flooded him, and all of his burdens melted off of his shoulders. “You’ve helped me more than you know. Thank you, so much!” He shook Ian’s hand again, with gratitude, and hurried towards the doors to the indoor section of the restaurant, joining his female companion waiting patiently for him in the doorway. 

Ian was starting to feel that maybe he did have something to contribute, after all. 

 

The feeling dwindled as he returned to his now crowded table, his chair taken by Greg, another pulled up close to Tyler with Dylan leaning into the shared conversation. It almost felt odd to see Tyler and Dylan sitting side by side, instead of in each other’s lap. 

The chatting didn’t falter as Ian fetched a chair from another table, wedging his way between Gail and Dylan. Tyler was in soapbox mode, Gail nodding ardently in agreement. 

“No, it’s true, though. Elton John was already out of the closet long _before_ he married a woman!” Tyler insisted.

Greg scoffed. “To family and close friends, I’m sure. But he wasn’t _publicly_ out…”

“He didn’t try to hide it! That’s what I’m saying. Someone as rich and famous as Elton John having to walk back into the closet enough to MARRY a WOMAN just proves my point. It was the same bullshit back then, but magnified, because homos were nothing but a fucking joke. Gays didn’t have any rights. Gay men weren’t even people” Tyler’s words echoed Gail’s sentiment from earlier. The impressed look on her face had Ian feeling out of place in his own business meeting.

Greg shook his head insistently. “Tyler, he had a fortune by then, and he was world-famous. He could’ve been an out gay man if he wanted to.” 

Gail grinned knowingly, “Will you be coming out soon, Greg?” 

“I could. If I wanted.” He crossed his arms defensively. “But the studio wants me to be with Bella until after our movie comes out.” He grimaced at the resounding, disapproving groans. “What! I like her! She’s uninhibited!”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, she was fine back when she was dating Tyler. But then she kept trying to convince me to date her after, like she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’s fucking creepy.”

“She’s open minded, Ian. She’s just looking out for us gays… she knows how the studios can be.”

“You were saying, about Elton John?” Gail looked pointedly at Greg, a victorious twitch to her smile.

He sat quietly for a moment, knowing she had won that argument. He diverted instead back to his roommate. “Yeah, well, it’s not like Bella tried to fuck you, okay Ian?”

“She did try. Many times.”

“Same here” Tyler winced. “That was the only downside of dating her. She was okay otherwise, though.”

“Can’t say I blame her.” Dylan quietly wrapped his hand around Tyler’s under the table. They shared a tender look between them, and Ian couldn’t help but think of Mickey. 

“You guys know she swipes the nudes from your phones, right?” She paused for effect as they looked on, startled. “To clarify: The videos you misguided boys make of yourselves sucking or getting fucked by other guys? The ones you never delete or bother to lock? Those.”

“What do you mean by ‘swiped’?” Greg asked carefully. 

“She’ll tell you she’s got your back and will gladly beard for you, but as soon as you let her borrow your phone, she sends all of your compromising photos and videos to herself.” 

“For… her own use? As porn?” he shrugged innocently.

Gail took a long sip of her drink. “Leverage.”

Dylan offered, “You mean like blackmail? Like, if you don’t do what she wants, she’ll sell you out?”

Gail arched one eyebrow tellingly. “I’m just saying, never let her use your phone.”

Tyler considered this, while Greg’s face morphed into stoned terror. “Oh my god…” 

Ian laughed hard, relieved to have safely dodged that bullet. “So, other than that, what did I miss while I was away?

“How many obstacles there were to coming out back in the day, versus now. We were talking about Colton, and Gail made some very good points” Dylan replied.

“Oh, Colton Haynes? Teen Wolf Colton Haynes?”

Dylan nodded. “Yep. He was saying how he was pressured by his agent to stay in the closet so that he could come across as the hetero lead actor type, and get more parts that way. I guess some of his bosses were telling him the same thing.”

“They’ve had so many gay actors on that show. Have the showrunners just not noticed?” Ian mocked. 

Gail signaled to their waitress for another round of drinks. “Ellen talked about that, too. The pressure from her bosses to keep quiet about her personal life. Her career exploded, after coming out, and she’s been a household name ever since. That’s another example I use, when reminding people that being themselves doesn’t have to be a death sentence.”

Ian blinked. “Who’s Ellen?”

“Ellen DeGeneres. She came out, on her show and in real life, back in ’96. It was a huge moment. Her bosses told her repeatedly that she couldn’t, that they wouldn’t allow it, so she had the episode written in secret. They couldn’t do anything about it until it was already filmed. They either had to trash the episode or let her air it like she wanted. They thought her career was dead in the water, but instead she became the biggest talk show host this side of Oprah.”

“It surprises me when people think that that kind of thing was a mindset of the past” Dylan concurred. “Just because gay marriage was legalized in the U.S. a few years ago, it doesn’t mean that everyone got on board.”

Gail deadpanned, “You mean like how racism ended after Obama got elected president?”

Dylan splayed his hands out in praise, “Thank you! That’s what I’ve been saying! Every time progress takes a big step forward, the hateful pushback gets louder, and more visible. How can people think that anyone’s struggle for social justice can simply end overnight?”

“Not everyone realizes that the generalized acceptance of the LGBTQ community in America is a relatively new thing. Look at other countries, like Turkey, North Korea—it’s the total opposite.”

Tyler placed his hands palm down on the table. “Everyone here does know that it’s illegal to tell kids in Russia about gay people, right? Like, literally against the law? I need to know that you all know that…”

Gail added, “If Putin had his way, you could end up dead just for supporting the gay community. Are you guys familiar with the Night Wolves?”

“In Russia, you get thrown in jail just for TELLING children that gay people EXIST”, Tyler reiterated. “I can’t get over it! We’re like the boogeymen, and we bring the gift of felony charges.” 

Greg chuckled. “You wouldn’t survive in Russia. Here, it’s only your earning potential that suffers.”

Gail shook her head. “It’s not that great here, either. Greg, our vice president openly supports gay conversion therapy. He funds, promotes, and praises organizations that do that exact kind of thing.”

He hesitated. “I know what that is, but… I’ve never really known what that entails.”

“Gay conversion therapy? Well, the usual methods of “curing” LGBTQ identities ranges from prayer to talk therapy, but it often involves violence and humiliation. And before 1981, the more common techniques included ice-pick lobotomies, chemical castration, hormone treatments, aversive treatments like using electric shock to the hands and genitals... They'd give you nausea-inducing drugs and then show you homoerotic stimuli, so that you'd relate being gay to the feeling of wanting to puke. And then there's the masturbatory reconditioning..." She shook her head in disgust. "It was abuse. And it’s still legal in 41 states. Somewhere around 20,000 kids from ages 13 to 17 will undergo conversion therapy. As in now. This is currently happening _now_."

The fact that Gail could recall all of these facts with ease, as if she’d had to tell the same sad information over and over, made Ian’s insides turn. He couldn’t help but feel powerless listening to the suffering of people who were unable to help themselves. To have no control over one’s own life whatsoever made Ian’s skin crawl. He couldn’t imagine facing conversion therapy, prison, or even death for being with Mickey.

“Sounds like something they’d do in the south, or the midwest. Down home, old fashioned bread bowl kind of living. Hey Ian, has anyone ever tried to gay conversion therapy you?”

Ian cringed and flipped Greg his middle finger. “Gail, can I go? We haven’t discussed work since these guys showed up, and I don’t know why we’re talking about this shit if we can’t do anything about it.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “You only feel that way because you’ve never had to suffer.”

“What the fuck?” Ian leaned forward in his seat, “I’ve never had to suffer?”

Greg explained, “I’m just saying that your perspective is different because you grew up in a different world. You got to be a normal kid in Illinois. I’m sure you weren’t raised with the same business tactics as a child actor was-- Image equals success, make sure you’re hot if you want to be a star, all that shit…They instill it into you from a young age.”

Ian could feel his blood start to boil. “Is that what you think? Because I’m not from L.A., coming out must’ve been easier for me than it would be for you?” 

“I’m not saying you’re not brave, I’m just saying… You come from a different lifestyle, so you probably don’t understand why this is important to discuss.

"Bullshit! I'm the only one of you who had the balls to be myself! You keep crying about ending up unemployed, but I did it anyway, didn't I?”

Ian could see that he was drawing attention from other tables, but he was too incensed to care.

“And no one coddles gay kids in the southside; everyone’s too fucking poor to give a shit. They’re too busy trying to put food on the table. Or get their next fix. And if you’re the wrong kind of different, you get your ass beat. There was nothing SAFE about being a queer, but I wasn’t willing to be a pussy my whole life, either.” He puffed up his chest. “And when I came here, I was told not to hurt anyone’s delicate feelings by being me when I’d make more money being a liar. Do you think Chuck didn't feed me the same ‘business tactics’ or whatever?”

He pointed two accusatory fingers in Greg’s direction as he drove his point home. “You’re not a victim just because you pretend to date girls. You could’ve just kept your private life to yourself. You got yourself into this shit. Don’t talk down to me just because I’m not a coward.” 

He leaned back in his chair. “And don’t tell me that I don’t get it just because I made better choices than you did. Fuck you. Try manning up before you act like I’ve never struggled with anything. For being a stereotypical L.A native, you’re nothing but talk.”

The sensation of pressure that had been lurking in his chest for the past hour now had a name: Resistance. Ian felt alive and on fire. He looked over at Gail, who stared right back at him with pride. 

Tyler sat silent, staring intently at the tabletop below him. 

Just as Dylan reached his hand towards Tyler’s arm, he spoke. "I'm doing it." 

They all looked up. "Ian’s right. I’m full of shit. I’m all talk.” 

Ian’s eyes darted from Greg to Tyler. “Oh, hey Tyler, come on. I wasn’t saying—“

“I am. It’s 2018. How am I still in the closet?” He laughed derisively, reclining back in his chair and scrubbing his hands over his face. His wide smile failed to distract from the defeat in his eyes. “I’m fucking tired too, Ian.” 

He turned to Dylan and held his gaze, “I’m talking to my team tomorrow morning. I’m coming out. Officially. Publicly. I don’t care. I’m not hiding anymore. I’m doing it.”

Greg interjected, “Won’t everyone think you’re a fake? I mean, that you pretended to be someone else? Fans are fucking crazy, you know this. Look at how they treated Taylor Swift, after the whole Kim and Kanye debacle.”

Ian scrunched his face in disgust. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”

“I’m just—“ Greg stuttered, “I’m just trying to look out for him. I’m not trying to stop you, Tyler, but let your team figure this out for you. Don’t rush it. Fans turn on people in a heartbeat if they feel like they’ve been misled. We’re supposed to be perfect. We can’t have any flaws. If you come out and say that you’ve been lying to them this whole time, purposely pulling the goddamn wool over their eyes the whole time, you’re done. You know this.” He looked up at Ian in preemptive defense. “It’s true.”

“It _is_ true. If fans find out that their idols are anything less than altruistic, they take it to heart.” Gail sipped at her drink. “And be prepared for the rollercoaster media coverage. You’ll get plenty of support for coming out, but the momentum only lasts so long before people move on to the next thing. There’s a good chance you could end up being another ‘gay actor’ for the rest of your career.” 

“You think that I shouldn’t do it?”

“You should. But you should know what you’re walking into. This isn’t going to be easy for you, and you’re going to have to fight harder to be taken seriously.”

“Is this the same advice you gave Ian?”

“No, but Ian’s my client. You don’t have the same management he does.” 

“So…. how do I do this, then?”

Gail turned to Ian, passing the question to him with a silent, challenging smirk. 

“I could be like Ian, and just say fuck it. Lay out all my cards at once.”

“Ian’s never pretended to be with girls. He didn’t have anything to backpedal” Greg noted.

Tyler’s face began falling the more he considered it. He turned to look at Ian, and Ian felt the responsibility of being needed. He was a role model now, whether he asked for it or not.

He sighed heavily. “Just say that you’re into guys. That you’re dating a guy. You don’t have to talk about your strictly gay orientation, or past relationships with girls, or whatever. It’s none of their fucking business anyway. You don’t owe them any explanations.”

“I can just tell them that I fell in love with a guy.”

“Tell them you’re in love with me.” 

Tyler nodded absentmindedly, until Dylan’s words sunk in.

“…You want me to out you?” 

“If you’re going public, then so am I.” He wrapped his hand around Tyler’s. “Let’s see them fire us both. They can cancel the whole show if that’s what they want. I’m done hiding, too.”

Tyler lurched forward and grabbed Dylan’s head with his free hand, planting a hard kiss to his lips. 

Greg casually looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was looking, but the neighboring tables had long since lost interest. As the pair stayed lost in their passionate embrace, Greg grabbed Tyler’s drink and downed it without protest.

Finally pulling back, Tyler caressed Dylan’s jaw softly and quipped, “Worst case scenario, we’ll always have Ryan Murphy to fall back on.”

Ian looked to Gail, who signified with a shake of her head and a placating hand that she’d explain that one later.

The group ordered champagne to celebrate, delving immediately into excited possibilities for their future freedom. As they discussed their dreams of a normal, untethered life, Ian focused on the beaming happiness of his two best friends, ignoring the nagging fear in the back of his mind that he may have just been the catalyst for several life-altering regrets.

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	9. Happy Landing

Getting interviewed was something Ian Gallagher had long since grown accustomed to. Whether on the red carpet, during a press tour, or in a one-on-one session for a magazine like Inside Scoop, he felt light years more comfortable with himself than he had growing up the invisible middle child of six. According to Gail, reporters found themselves impressed with his affable confidence and easygoing attitude.

If he was being honest with himself, he really enjoyed this aspect of promoting his projects. Getting to talk at length about his roles and the process of preparing for them was one of the few times he really enjoyed long conversations with virtual strangers. Not every actor felt the same, but Ian thrived off of the attention that the pursuit of his passions had earned him.

And this role in particular had earned him more attention than any other.

He shifted in his seat on the couch, scrolling through his notifications while he waited for the reporter to arrive.

 

**Ian:** Did you just post a photo of your morning wood to Instagram?  
**Tyler:** It’s not like it was a nude, Ian. My underwear covered the entire length of it, _thank you_.  
**Ian:** I’m unfollowing you.

 

The door opened and a familiar face entered the room. “Ian! Sorry for the wait, how’ve you been, buddy?” The man extended his hand, prompting Ian to pocket his phone and stand to greet him.

“Jeff! I didn’t know you worked for Inside Scoop now!”

The middle-aged blond cringed as he took his seat. “Let’s just say that Entertainment Weekly and I didn’t see eye to eye…”

Ian nodded in quiet understanding. The assistant beside the reporter worked to set up the recording equipment on the coffee table between them, pausing awkwardly at the mention.

“So! You’ve come a long way from our first interview together for Resisting the Urge, huh? I hear you’re a potential Emmy contender now.”

“I don’t know about that… but Resisting the Urge wasn’t bad. It was a good role. Can’t say I hated working there, you know?”

Jeff chuckled. “Yeah, and now we all know why!”

Ian tilted his head, waiting for Jeff to explain. 

“All of those gay actors floating in and out of the cast. Couldn’t believe it when I heard the news about you. I wouldn’t have guessed! You always seemed so straight.”

“Oh… right.” Ian had never dated or fooled around with a coworker before Mickey, but he sensed that divulging that information would start a longer conversation about his personal life, and he preferred to keep the focus on the topic at hand.

“But, yeah. Santa Monica Slaughter is great. I’m really proud of everything we’re accomplishing, there.” 

“Fantastic! I’ve been hearing great things about this season. Any spoilers you want to offer me while we’re still off the record?” he proffered with a smirk. 

Ian smirked silently in return and sipped at his glass of water.

“Fair enough.” They watched as the assistant finished setting up the recorder. With a confirming nod, they were ready to begin. 

Jeff looked down at the notepad in his lap. “Ian, you’ve made a big splash in the media this past month by coming out as gay, but you haven’t made any official announcements… Can you make a statement for us here at Inside Scoop?”

“Uh, sure?”

Jeff persisted, “We’d love to get your first real take on the matter.”

Ian blinked. “You mean that I’m gay? Yep. Still gay.” 

Jeff sat quietly waiting for Ian to continue. Ian turned to the assistant in puzzlement, but was only offered a shrug in return. 

The reporter cleared his throat. “Santa Monica Slaughter is known for being one of the more racy, sexually explicit shows on television. How did that affect you, as a gay man, having to act out so many sex scenes with a woman?”

Ian set his glass of water down on the table and wiped at his lips with the back of his hand. “I’m an actor. It didn’t affect me at all.”

The older man jotted down notes on the paper, keeping it expertly angled to obscure the writing from Ian’s view. “Your character has enjoyed a hot and heavy love affair with his girlfriend, played by actress Amaya Alvarez.” 

Ian nodded.

“I imagine she’s feeling relieved to know she had nothing to worry about, shooting all of those scenes with you, right? That must be a lot of weight off of her shoulders.”

 

 

“You know, to be filming scenes with someone who isn’t interested in women. Must make it a lot easier to perform a role without needing to feel as self-conscious.”

Ian clenched his jaw and stared blankly. “You’d have to ask her that. Can we talk about the show, now?”

Jeff flipped to the next page of notes, read through them, and flipped again to the next. His lips moved as he mentally reviewed his questions.

The realization that he would’ve had to endure pages worth of similar questioning left Ian with a cold chill running down his spine. 

“The previous season of Slaughter won over audiences and critics alike with its dark undertones and intense action scenes. Will we be getting similar action sequences for season two?”

Ian felt himself relax incrementally. “Yes. Absolutely! We’ve been training a lot for this season. It’s going to be way more intense, this time.” Ian slid closer to the table and leaned in towards the men, both listening intently to his response. “We interact so much with the on-set stunt trainers, and they really hone in on the fine details for each scene. Every twist and turn is calculated for the biggest impact. There’s rarely a time when we’re going to need to even have stunt doubles standing in for us. We do most of our own stunts.” Ian smiled to himself. “It’s one of the biggest thrills you can experience, as an actor. Performing your own stunts.”

Jeff nodded, seemingly pleased with Ian’s words. “And what sort of diet plan did you follow to get into shape to reprise your character?”

“Oh, wow, I’ve never been asked that before. Um… I don’t diet? I just work out, mainly.”

“I hear you, there… good for you, Ian! You do look a bit tired today, though. Did you come straight here from the gym?” Jeff laughed, as if he’d just delivered comedic gold.

Ian frowned. “I came here from work.”

“But you do seem like someone who takes care of themselves… Now that you’re out of the closet, you must have men throwing themselves at your feet everywhere you go!”

“Always have.” Ian shrugged. 

“Any real life love interests worth mentioning?” The assistant paused and looked up from his equipment, also interested in getting breaking information about Ian’s personal life.

Ian narrowed his eyes at the reporter. “Isn’t this article supposed to be about the show?”

The older man’s eyes lit up at the mention. “Of course! I’m glad you brought that up. With Russell Daniels in an extended stay at rehab facility Promises, fans have been speculating what will happen to his character. Will he be written off entirely? Will he be making a return appearance earlier on?”

“That’s not my place to say.”

“Insiders have hinted that the show will incorporate Daniels’ real life struggle with heroin and cocaine into his storyline, possibly shifting his character into Vice.”

Ian opened his hands in question, “We don’t even have a Vice squad on the show. How the hell would I know?”

“Has Daniels contacted you personally about the possible shift in Santa Monica Slaughter’s direction?”

“No.” Ian looked around the room in confusion, suddenly feeling like he had been dropped onto another planet. “You never asked me weird shit like this when you worked for Entertainment Weekly.” 

Jeff’s face fell, and his voice became clipped and curt. “Well, I won’t ask you about Russell Daniels any further, if it makes you uncomfortable…”

“Good, then don’t.”

“Let’s talk fashion. Give us a glimpse into what we can expect to see onscreen in regards to your character.”

His assistant grimaced in embarrassment. 

“Like, what I’m going to wear? On the show?”

Jeff nodded in the affirmative.

“Detective shit, I guess. Suits? Uh, button up shirts, sometimes. Same stuff we always wear.”

“You’re surprisingly relaxed when it comes to style. You don’t often see that.” Jeff smiled politely.

Ian laughed awkwardly. “Are you really into fashion, or something?

“Me? No, never. If my wife didn’t dress me, I’m pretty sure they’d never allow me to be seen in public!” He laughed nervously, then murmured to his assistant to remove that line from the recording, as well as the Entertainment Weekly mention. 

Ian jutted his chin out defiantly. “I’m dressed the same way I have been every time you’ve interviewed me before. Is your new boss making you ask me this shit or something?”

Jeff considered Ian for a moment, and then continued. “Let’s move on. There’s been a lot of buzz surrounding the casting of Mickey Milkovich in the lead role. Has this led to any on set tensions? Do you feel as if the diminishing of your role has been unjust?”

The mention of his boyfriend caught Ian off guard. He knew that his new costar would come up in conversation at some point, but he found himself mentally bracing himself to answer the next round of questions very carefully. If the warm blush across his cheeks was any indication, it’d be far too easy to slip up.

“Huh? No, Mickey’s been great! Amazing. He’s uh, he’s a fantastic actor, and having him on the set with me has been fucking awesome. Just watching him, you know? Like, he does this one thing…” Ian leans forward and gestures approvingly with his hands, “Like, every time he goes to really express something, some thought, or mood, or whatever, he’s got these facial expressions that he does. Like with his eyebrows? And his mouth, and he’ll take his hand, and—“

He looked up to two blank expressions, waiting silently for him to continue.

“And… well, his attitude is really cool, too. He’s a cool guy.”

For the first time during the entire interview, he found himself questioning his response, replaying his words back to himself.

“So, there’s no fighting between cast members? Everyone’s getting along fine? There’s no, let’s say… struggled for dominance regarding who’s got the lead role?” He regarded Ian as if he wasn’t believing the words he hadn’t even spoken, yet.

“Not at all! Mickey’s one of the best actors around. We’re really fucking lucky to have him. I mean, we’re getting equal screen time and stuff, but he’s definitely the lead actor in my book.”

If Ian didn’t know better, he’d say that Jeff almost looked disappointed in his answer. 

“Early word is that Santa Monica Slaughter is a shoo-in for a Dramatic Emmy nomination. Betting odds are good that you’d take it. Are you hoping for a Lead Actor nod as well?”

Ian smiled boldly and answered, “Well, I’m no Mickey Milkovich, but I’d like to be as good an actor as he is, someday. Fingers crossed!” He took a long, slow sip of water and enjoyed watching the uncomfortable squirm he got in return.

 

****

 

“Hate these goddamn long ass continuous shots.” Mickey huffed, hands on his hips in protest. “One thing goes wrong, there’s a whole chunk of my day wasted.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to look sweet, though, when they air it.” Hopper bounced on his heels in excitement. 

“Coulda been jerkin’ it in my trailer by now.” 

He jumped at the loud, blunt chortling from his coworker. “Aw, man, you’re great! You remind me of this dog my wife got, this one time… it was a chihuahua, and I was like, ‘Fuck, man, I don’t want a chihuahua’, cause they’re obnoxious little rats, right? Always yipping and trying to bite your heels?”

Mickey shot him an icy look.

Hopper continued, “But then, the more I looked at this little guy, so cute and tiny, thinking he’s this big hot shit scaring everyone, it just made him more adorable. Like, NO ONE is scared of him, but he doesn’t know it, you know? He just keeps on trotting around like he’s dangerous. Any time he gets sassy with me, I just pick him up and carry him around on my hip. He loves it! He’s like my own little purse.”

“You ever try to pick me up and I will end you.” The arch of Mickey’s eyebrows grew impossibly sharper.

More laughter followed. Mickey’s expression didn’t change.

The director’s voice bellowed through the crackling of his megaphone. “Places!”

The actors changed their stances, facing towards the middle of the wide city street. Normally packed and bustling, the avenue had been blocked off for the day just for this scene. If they didn’t complete it within their allotted time, they’d be shit out of luck.

Stunt drivers queued up, preparing to drive by as stand in once-off characters replicating busy Los Angeles traffic.

Mickey closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, falling into character. 

“Annnnnnnnd ACTION!”

 

***

 

“WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!!” Larson bellowed, panic seeping into the frustrated rage in his voice. 

“This says he’s right here.” McGruder held the device up to the senior detective’s face, indicating that they were in the right location. “This doesn’t make sense… how could he be here if we can’t see him?”

Larson eyes darted around, looking over his shoulders and back to the location in front of them. “We don’t have time to stand in the middle of the street! I’m not gonna let him die!”

“The kidnapper said in his message that we’d find him right here, and that he’s not dead yet.”

_Yet_. The promise loomed darkly over the brunet.

“This doesn’t make any sense, though, boss. The tracker says he’s right here! We should be able to reach out and touch him.”

The hair on the back of Larson’s neck stood up. “No fucking way…” 

He looked down at the sewer grate at their feet. “Get this up! NOW!” The men yanked the lid up, tossing it aside. It rolled under the front end of the station wagon halted in front of them. The woman in the driver’s seat flipped them off, cursing threats obscured by closed windows.

“Watterson!” Larson dropped to his hands and knees on the roasting tar of the blacktop, ignoring the impatient honks chorusing around them. “Watterson! Fucking answer me, you prick!” He couldn’t be too late. _He couldn’t be_ …

“I’m down here!” The unmistakable sound of his redheaded partner’s voice soothed Larson instantly. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The older man pointed into the dark tunnel. “Ay, McGruder, aim your flashlight down this way!” 

They followed the beam to the left side of the bottom rung, finding the lost detective handcuffed and half-conscious.

“HOLD THE LIGHT!” Larson shouted, darting down the ladder at top speed. He jumped the last five feet to the ground, scooping up his slumped partner, patting at his face frantically. 

“Hey, hey! Look at me! Who did this to you? Is he down here?”

Watterson groaned in response, shaking his head. He was aching visibly with blood streaked across his cheek bone. 

Mickey tapped at his nose nervously with his knuckle, taking in their surroundings. “We gotta get you outta here, fast.” He fiddled with the handcuffs, trying to trick the locking mechanism. “Jesus fuck, man. Did you get a look at the guy?”

“Hit me in the back of my head… didn’t see him. Knocked me out cold…” The redhead’s face crumpled. “How’d I let him do this to me, Will?” 

The detective’s face softened at his partner’s distress. “It’s not like that. You were attacked. This wasn’t your fault.” He struggled with the handcuffs, pulling the chain taut. “We’re gonna get this guy. I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

An almost imperceptible smile ran across the man’s face.

McGruder’s voice rang out above them. “Hey, do you guys hear that?”

The older man paused, slowing the fearful beating of his heart to tune his ears to the static sound rumbling in the distance. 

_No_ …

In moments, the tunnel would be gushing with water, rushing towards them with enough force to send them flying.

“Turn your head!” He shouted, withdrawing his revolver from his side. Watterson leaned as far to his left as the handcuffs would allow, and flinched in anticipation of the deafening bang.

Larson aimed the barrel of the gun at the chain, pressing the nozzle against the links. Without hesitation, he fired directly into the metal, breaking the chain in one shot. He holstered his piece and pulled his partner up to his feet.

“Watterson, I need you to climb, FAST.” The taller man slumped in his arms, head falling to rest on Larson’s shoulder. 

“Watterson!” He looked to his right, dreading the rumbling sound getting closer. “Aaron, _wake up_!”

The redhead curled an arm around Larson’s neck to brace himself to stand, just in time for the flood to break around the corner, heading straight for them.

They were out of time.

He reached forward under Watterson’s arms as they wrapped tight around him, and began to climb the ladder, groaning with strained effort. He pulled with all of his strength to heft their combined weight upwards; a surge of adrenaline boosting him on.

He made it halfway up the ladder before the water hit. In an instant, he wrapped his arms around the side bar, with his partner pressed in between them. The force of the flood hit them hard, nearly wrenching them apart.

Larson squeezed harder, willing himself to hold on. Visions of the redhead slipping through his grasp and drowning in the tunnel, smashing into walls on his way through flashed before him. 

He shook the intrusive thoughts away, knowing he’d never let it come to that. 

He would protect his partner with his life.

The water level submerged them up to their necks. They sputtered and fought to keep their heads tilted up, gasping for breath.

Larson felt his partner’s arm tighten around him, as the other one reached above them and extended high into the air, latching onto a rung three feet above their heads.

They clung to each other, helplessly suspended in the avalanche of water for what felt like a lifetime.

Larson didn’t notice that his eyes were clenched shut until he felt their bodies start to drop, both men still clinging to the wet steel. The water was filtering out through the tunnels, finally granting them respite.

They heaved heavy bursts of air into their lungs as they lowered themselves to the ground. Larson felt himself trembling with a combination of shock and utter gratitude at their survival.

Once he felt settled in the knowledge that the danger had passed, he looked up to find his partner staring at him with a weighted gaze of respect and understanding. 

“I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“Aaron, stop…”

“I’d have drowned. There’s no getting around that fact, Will.”

Larson reached a hand to his partner’s shoulder. “You and me, we’re a team. Alright? You dyin’ on my watch isn’t a thing that’s ever gonna happen.”

The redhead smiled brilliantly in the dark shadows of the sewer. “What do you say we go catch ourselves a serial killer?”

The senior detective smiled and shook his head. “First, we gotta go get you checked out. Make sure this ain’t the concussion talking.” He paused and took in the soaked man in front of him. “You look like a fuckin’ wet rat.”

 

***

 

“Cut! Beautiful. Let’s run that again, starting from the top.” The crackling of the megaphone set Mickey’s nerves on fire. 

His fists balled up automatically. “I hate that fucking thing.”

Ian laughed, his eyes shining with affection. “Does this sort of thing even happen in real life? Tidal waves inside sewers?”

“Only in the movies, man. Movies, and shitty tv shows.”

Ian chuckled, discreetly running soft fingertips along the side of Mickey’s hand. “Wouldn’t want to be in a cheesy scene like this with anyone but you, Mick.”

Mickey beamed back at him, propping an eyebrow. “Need a fuckin’ cigarette, man. Carrying your heavy ass up a ladder wore me out.”

“Your ass wears me out, too, Mickey.”

Mickey punched him in the bicep, laughing despite himself. He peered upwards, squinting his eyes against the strong beam of the flashlight. “Ay, Thor! Shut that thing off and go get us some smokes!”

Hopper grinned down at them. “You got it, Rocket!”

Mickey scrunched up his forehead in confusion. “The fuck does that mean?”

Ian interlocked their fingers together and settled in, awaiting their earned smoke break. “I’ll explain it once we get home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this chapter reflected the way actresses are regarded in interviews, especially in comparison to actors. I had the character of Jeff, who has known Ian for years, suddenly treating Ian the same as he would a woman, now that he has learned Ian is gay. And god forbid anyone be lumped in the same category as women...
> 
> In case you were wondering if I went way over the top with Jeff's questions: I didn't. This line of questioning is all real, and more common than I'd like to believe.
> 
>  
> 
> And for anyone wondering who Rocket is:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  


	10. Hold On to Your Love

YOU GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, so it's not an update (although, I have been working on five chapters of this story simultaneously for the past month... not sure why, that's just how it's been going), but I just really wanted to celebrate the fact that 

WE GOT OUR ENDGAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!! 

  
And it was so beautiful!

  
I really enjoyed getting to see the shock and emotion on Ian's face... this show has denied him true feeling and reaction for a long while now, and it was like getting our Ian back. He probably enjoyed getting to feel once again, as well!

  
And our Mickey is back with his Ian, which is all he wanted. Fuck Mexico, and the Cartel; this is exactly where he wanted to be. Mickey wins! Mickey is back with his love!

  
You sneaky, lip-licking bastard. <333

  
This was all I wanted, you guys! We've all been waiting so long... I wanted them together so badly!

  
And it was perfect, and sweet, and Mickey was full-spectrum Mickey. Confident and flirty, always has the upper hand and is full of surprises, and then looks deeply into Ian's eyes as he's got the love of his life pinning him down and caressing his cheek. His expression was so pure and full of peace, and unconditional love. 

  
I am grateful for this, and really wanted to share this celebration with you guys. 

If you haven't seen the scene yet and would like to, here you go:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKzrG959f0A&feature=youtu.be

Thank you to my loving friends who made sure I got some wonderful screenshots, info, and links to this video while halfway through my shift at work. :D

Happy Gallavich Happily Ever After Day! #MickeyCameBack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (More ANSILa updates to follow, soon!) <3


	11. Choosey Beggar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey go out for coffee.

“Come on. Mick. It’s just coffee. Guys can get coffee with other guys. It’s not a big deal.”

“Guys get _beer_ with other guys, and even then, it’s pretty fucking gay.”

Ian set his script down on the seat next to him, slowly making his way across the short distance of his trailer. He curled his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, inhaling his scent as he leaned in to whisper, “I’ll make it worth your time… “ He buried his nose into Mickey’s hairline, letting his lips press softly across the older man’s temple. “I’ll do that thing with my tongue.”

“You always do that thing with your tongue.”

Ian pulled back just enough to give him a knowing look.

“Oh… _oh_!” Mickey was pleasantly surprised. He grinned brightly, long enough to realize that he had just conceded, and without any sort of effort on Ian’s end.

He furrowed his brows and sighed. He tossed their current script aside, letting it fall gracelessly to the floor. “Guess this means we’re done running lines?” 

“For now.” Ian pressed a warm kiss to Mickey’s neck. 

When Mickey coiled his arms around Ian’s middle in response, he knew they were effectively on pause from anything work related.

“Fine. Lemme call Princess and I’ll have him come pick us up.” Princess was the nickname Mickey had given his large, burly personal driver.

“It’s right down the street. We can walk there in fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah, but that means dealing with a lotta bullshit, and a cup of coffee ain’t worth it.” Ian couldn’t help admiring the way he crinkled his nose, flapping one hand dramatically to the side to express his displeasure. “Not when I can walk fifty feet that way” he threw his thumb over his shoulder, “to the Craft services table and get coffee any time.”

“Sure, but I thought it’d be nice to go for a walk. Get some fresh air. A change of scenery. Waiting hours to film a scene is boring. I want to do something different.” He brought out his puppy eyes. “It’d be nice.”

“No, it won’t be nice. Between here and there you’ve got a whole bunch of strangers just waiting to give you their unsolicited opinion on everything about you, from your work to your personal life. Not to mention the fucking rats.”

“Paparazzi?”

“Yeah. Always looking to pick a fight with me.”

“But it’ll be good publicity for the show, right?” Mickey raised a skeptical eyebrow. Ian continued, “For them to see us hanging out. It’ll be like free advertising.” People should be talking about them, damn it.

Mickey scowled, and Ian kissed his lips softly. “We don’t have to stand too close to each other or anything. I’ll walk a few feet away from you, I promise.”

Guilt splayed across Mickey’s face. That wasn’t something he wanted Ian to be feeling.

Mickey sighed, already regretting the decision he was about to make. But he always caved for those green eyes, that hopeful look that took up permanent residence there.

“Alright. Fuck. Lemme get my shirt.” He exited the trailer before he could see Ian’s puzzled look.

Ian walked carefully through Mickey’s trailer door, shutting it behind him before making his way into the spacious bedroom area.

He found Mickey digging through his closet, muttering to himself. He pulled out a dingy, oversized, sleeveless shirt.

Ian tipped his head in question, but watched quietly as Mickey took off his shirt to slip into the larger one. His eyes lingered on Mickey’s chest, his abs, the natural bulge in his pants, and ended in a glance at his large shoes.

“Now’s not the time, Red.” Mickey reconsidered. “Unless you’d rather get on me instead?” He smirked with mock hopefulness. Ian loved the way his whole face lit up when he joked around.  
Ian restrained his urge to take Mickey up on his offer, instead asking, “What’s with the shirt?”

Mickey chuckled. “Glad you asked. It’s an old trick I used to use, back before I had Princess to cart me around. See, the rats only get paid for the shots they take if the magazines that pay them for it think it’s a new picture. Like, they always want up-to-the-fuckin-second photos. Can’t use something everyone else is already using. Gotta sell their own stuff, right?”

“What, like, tabloids?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s gotta be the first to get there, apparently, or it ain’t news.” He laughed mockingly. “They get paid for “new” photos, even if you’re not doing a damn thing. Just the fact that you’re out doing things like a normal person would gets them hot and bothered. This way, they get all pissy that I’m cockblocking them from another paycheck, and _that_ ,” Mickey drawled for dramatic effect, “that just makes my whole day.” He smiled brightly. “Fuck the rats.”

He pressed an open palm against his chest in a self-satisfied gesture and continued, “So if I wear this shirt everywhere I go, it’ll look like every photo they take of me is the same old photo. Even if my hair’s longer, or whatever, it’s close enough. They don’t get paid for it, therefore, they stop tryin’. They back the fuck off to go find someone else to shoot.”

Ian reared his head back in surprise. “That’s… fucking genius. That actually works?”

Mickey, nonplussed, spat. “Yeah…works every time.”

Ian crept towards his suddenly sharp boyfriend. “So, what’s the problem?” He kissed Mickey’s lips softly.

“Problem is,” Mickey kissed him back and ended it quickly, pushing away to grab a pair of sunglasses off of a nearby stand. “They’ll all know it’s a new picture.”

“Why?”

Mickey gave him an impatient look. “Because I’ll be with you.”

Ian felt a blush fall over him; his heart pounded just a little faster. Mickey was doing this for him despite the outcome.

“Undermines the whole idea. It’ll be a cash cow. Gonna have every asshole in my face, talking shit, wasting my time…” He cracked his knuckles, pacing from one end of the bed to the other. “Plus, I’ll have ‘em asking me about you, and if any one of them starts talking shit about you, I won’t be able to knock ‘em the fuck out properly. Apparently punching faces that need to be punched is frowned upon.”

Ian beamed with pride.

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

“And if I heard right, you knocked the guy out cold, spit on him, and walked off with his food, right?” Their casual walk down Cloverfield Boulevard was filled with tales of past altercations, to varying degrees of accuracy.

“It wasn’t exactly like that… where’d you even hear that from?”  
Mickey shrugged innocently. “It’s just what I heard, man. Don’t know what to tell you.” He gave Ian a flirtatious smile. 

Ian laughed lightheartedly. “Okay, yeah, so I’ve had my moments… but that guy wasn’t a photographer. He was a producer. And most photographers aren’t so bad, you know. They’re just doing their jobs.”

“What they do is not photography, Ian. Photographers get your permission, first. Set up appointments, and shit. Treat you like a person, not like a warm mouth.” He lit up a cigarette, getting instant dirty looks from a snooty-looking woman passing them by. “They’re vultures. No respect. No privacy. Just waiting for me to decay.”

Ian observed him carefully as he took a deep drag, and held out his hand for Mickey to share. He did, and watched Ian’s mouth as he placed the filter in between his lips.

His eyes drew away to a man walking up to Ian’s side, approaching quickly. “Hey, are you guys who I think you are?”

Ian pushed down his automatic aversion to this sort of abrupt approach, and braced himself to make his point to Mickey. Not everyone was out to get them, and fans could be somewhat decent.

“Depends on—“

Mickey cut off his response. “Get fucked, dick hole. Take your backwards hat with you. You look like a literal bag of douche that’s past its expiration date.”

Ian held back a stifled laugh. “I’m Ian. Nice to meet you.” He threw up a two-fingered salute, wary of shaking the stranger’s hand.

“Ian Gallagher. Holy shit, man, I can’t believe I’m meeting you in person. My wife is going to flip!”  
Ian turned to give a cheeky grin towards Mickey. 

“And you’re Mickey Milkovich, right? My wife is going to be SO PISSED that she wasn’t here for this!”

Ian slowed his pace a bit, hesitantly encouraging the conversation. “You a fan of Mickey’s movies? He’s pretty fucking fantastic, right?” He could feel Mickey scowling without even looking at him.

“Of course! Of course… and you guys are working together on your show, right? Santa Monica Slaughter? Who do you play, Mickey?”

Mickey picked up his own speed, walking ahead of Ian, trying his best to leave this fan and their conversation behind him. 

Ian spoke on his behalf. “He’s my boss, and my partner; his detective is the best in his field, and he and I have conflict over how to handle this guy that we’re trying to—“

Mickey turned a cold glance over his shoulder as he walked, “Ian, shut the fuck up and walk away from him.”

Ian scoffed. “Kinda like that. Heh. Mickey sure does stay in character…” He trailed off with a smile, realizing how nothing Mickey does seems to bring him down. “He’s really good, actually. People don’t give him a lot of credit because he’s a ‘Big Hollywood Action Star’ or whatever,” Ian insisted, waving his hands for emphasis, “but he’s so talented. It can be kind of intimidating to work against him in a scene, but it’s good, though, for me. He makes me want to be a better actor. I like trying to keep up with him.”

Ian didn’t realize he had been rambling, and blushed. “So, uh, you a fan of the show? D’you see the first season?”

The man nodded with enthusiasm. “I did! For sure! Word is that your co-star, Hopper DeKamp, is getting sued by his former nanny for harassment and verbal abuse. Do you know anything about that, Ian?”

Ian stilled where he stood, feeling like he had just taken a punch to the gut.

His head slowly rotated to the left, looking at the man waiting for an answer with a big smile plastered on his face, to the growing crowd watching them from the other side of the street, to the four men with cameras and a boom mic closing the distance between them from behind.

“Are you f—really??” He looked at the man feeling slightly betrayed, and then returned to face Mickey. His costar was stopped in place about ten feet ahead of him, arms crossed, eyebrows propped way above his sunglasses with a clear “Fucking told you so” expression.

“Can we get your opinion, on the record,” the man began, before Ian about-faced and sped up to meet Mickey. They both walked briskly away from the scene, Ian’s hands shoved in his pockets guiltily; Mickey’s hands balled into fists at his side. His cigarette in desperate need of ashing.

The sounds of clicks grew louder as the men surrounded them, passing them by and rotating to stay facing them, walking backwards effortlessly in practiced motion.

One of them had a large video camera held in place, stone silent and focused as if he were nothing more than a fly on the wall with a single job to do.

“Ian, we’ve heard rumors that your character struggles with drug addiction this season.” The screwed up expression on his face was answer enough, though he said nothing.

“How about the pregnancy rumors, that you and Amaya Alvarez’s character are going to be parents?”

The paparazzi were clicking constantly, as if they were somehow getting new shots instead of the same one over and over.

With no responses from either actor, the reporter continued, “Speaking of pregnancy rumors, Mickey, we hear a congrats are in order for you and your fiancée, Svetlana Lychnikoff!”

If Ian hadn’t been on high alert, he might’ve missed the twitch of Mickey’s hand, reaching out towards his own, falling quickly back to his side. If it was for Ian’s comfort or his own, he couldn’t guess.

Mickey offered a quiet, “Get lost”, but didn’t flip him off, and kept his face neutral while he said it. Ian knew he was struggling to not give anything away… all it would take is one show of emotion, one wrong reaction and the media would make a field day of it.

He knew that reality well.

As the reporter continued to ambush Mickey with personal questions, Ian scanned the onlookers across the street. It seemed that most of them had their cell phones out and aimed straight at them. Another man with a large video camera sat back on his haunches on the corner of Cloverfield and Broadway, as if he’d been waiting there for Mickey to walk by.

An uneasy feeling flooded through him. He’d spent years encountering situations like this, but never to such a degree. His paparazzi weren’t stalking the corners in advance. And when he encountered fans, it was scattered, and specific to his roles. These onlookers seemed to be beside themselves with glee at the mere sight of Mickey.

His Mickey. His normal boyfriend, who had always been an A-list actor for as long as Ian had knew of him, but it never occurred to him until now what an absolute disaster his public life was.

The idea of discreetly taking a car from place to place was looking highly appealing, and he allowed the guilt to sink him down. Mickey knew this was going to happen.

This was Mickey’s daily life.

His eyes searched ahead of them for Goodboybob Coffee, hoping to get Mickey out of this disaster of his own making.

“Boss! It’s Carla.” One of the men following the reporter held up his smartphone to the reporter, who paused long enough to read the message, and then sprinted to catch up with Ian. He was suddenly out of breath, and grinning like a madman.

“Ian! How’s your personal life been treating you? Lots of free time for romance these days?”

Ian felt his ears heat up, probably beat red.

“We’d like to hear it straight from you, Ian. No gossip, no rumors. No bullshit. We just want your side of things. Can you help us out?”

Mickey stopped so abruptly Ian almost ran smack into him.

“Is it true that you’re dating—“

“A’ight, here’s how this is going to go.” Mickey flicked his wasted cigarette onto the sidewalk, murder in his eyes, venom in his voice.

“You’re gonna take your cameras, your douchebag crew, and that stupid fucking hat, and you’re gonna fuck off before you regret it.” He held a stare so intense that the reporter couldn’t look away.

The crew, on the other hand, exchanged snickers at Mickey’s expense. “They’re going to love that one!”

Sensing that Mickey was about to find himself on the receiving end of an assault and battery charge in the immediate future, Ian wrapped one arm around his chest and pulled him across the remaining distance of sidewalk and into the Goodboybob’s.

“I wouldn’t have told them, Mickey!” Ian hissed in an angry whisper. “Don’t you trust me?”

Mickey’s eyes darted everywhere but at Ian’s glare. “You’re not the problem. They are.”

“Don’t risk your career over this. Our secret is ours. Just us, remember?... I mean, Gail knows, sure, and I guess some of the guys at home figured it out… You know, I’m getting the feeling that Hopper and Amaya--”

Mickey cleared his throat and tilted his head towards the long line of customers at the counter, most of them now turned to face them.

Ian shrugged indifferently; he had whispered so quietly that it was impossible for anyone to have heard him, but he conceded that this was a conversation for another, more secluded time.

The Goodboybob’s on Broadway was among the more high-caliber, intricately decorated locations that Ian had come across. Their proximity to AMC studios was no small coincidence.

A large flat screen adorned every corner of the outer lobby, all tuned to the E! entertainment channel. A commercial for some Kardashian show or another played across them simultaneously, causing Ian to shudder and look away.

This wasn’t the breezy, casual outing he had been hoping to provide Mickey with.

To his surprise, Mickey rested a hand on his bicep, calming down his racing mind. “You think this place sells _coffee_ , or am I going to have to step out back and knock the soy latte out of ‘em?”

Ian’s frown evaporated, and he looked over in gratitude at Mickey’s attempt to lighten the mood. “I think you’d be surprised, the kinds of lattes they come up with is pretty impressive. Some of these are like drinking a candy bar. You can get three shots of espresso and not even taste it!”

Mickey shrugged both shoulders, tapping at the side of his nose.

The customers milling about in the long line began collectively looking in their direction, whispering amongst themselves, pulling out their cellphones in anticipation of the photos and, if they were lucky, selfies.

Ian groaned. “When am I going to get a break? Why am I getting accosted everywhere I go? Can’t I just be a normal person for a day?” He immediately felt guilty at his words, having just witnessed what a true invasion of privacy really looked like.

“What, from fans? Nah, these girls are harmless.” The men in line didn’t seem to mind the slight.

He walked into the middle of the room and clapped his hands together, once, loudly. “Listen up, if you want to take a picture with me, get in line, make it snappy, and keep it moving. My friend and I would like to get some coffee, if you don’t mind.

What happened next floored Ian. The customers quietly formed a line off to Mickey’s side, some leaving the line for coffee for the opportunity. They waited patiently for a selfie, thanking Mickey profusely and gushing over his work. They didn’t stay long, just heaped praises and moved so the next person in line could have their moment with him. Some were teary eyed. Some were at a total loss of words. But they all followed Mickey’s direction, and no one tried to get too touchy-feely with him.

Mickey, in return, posed for every single request, made his signature Laid Back Mickey face for each one (somewhere between badass and bored, if Ian had to put his finger on it), and didn’t complain at all. A couple of the compliments even elicited a smile from him, which had Ian so happy, he almost forgot to feel jealousy towards them all stealing his Mickey time.

It was then that he noticed that he was left entirely to his own devices. Usually, when out and about with his roommates, Ian was the main draw. Growing up the lonely, invisible middle child, Ian had become immersed in the attention that his career had brought him. Even when he was ranting about his loss of privacy, he secretly reveled in it.

Being in the same room with Mickey meant that he was back to being invisible. He was torn between two strong emotions, his pride telling him that he was more proud of Mickey than feeling the sting of his bruised ego.

He turned to the young woman next to him, standing in line to meet Mickey, and announced, “Mickey and I are starring in a show together.” She nodded and smiled brightly in response, then turned back to watch the effortless charisma Mickey exuded with his fans.

“I’m Ian Gallagher,” he elaborated.

“That’s so awesome,” she replied limply, giving him a pity smile. 

Feeling miserable and annoyed, he wandered off without fanfare, walking up the join the drastically shortened line for ordering.

He leaned back against the counter adorned with creamers, sugars, and added flavors of all varieties, and sighs helplessly. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and absentmindedly scrolled through his notifications, desperate for a distraction.

Among the many usernames following and friend requesting him, one stands out, in a cluster, on every media platform he has an account with.

**Mandy Milkovich**.

He knew instantly that this couldn’t be a coincidence. Mickey had mentioned his sister repeatedly in previous conversations.

He noticed missed calls and a Skype attempt from a number with a 917 area code, and wondered if the connection was the same.

He looked over at Mickey, busy charming the figurative pants off of every woman in the building all at once without even trying to, and made a mental note to ask him about the number later.

He added every request from Mandy, and scrolled some more through the rest of his notifications.

They were staggering. The time he’d spent with Mickey since shooting for this season began had flown by so quickly, that he’d neglected his accounts. He smiled to himself, thinking back on how immersed in interacting with his followers he used to be. Now, it wasn’t even an afterthought. He’d forgotten all about them.

_Who could blame me?_ he thought, staring dreamily at his lover.

Just as he began considering the prospect of hiring a media assistant, someone who could manage his multitude of accounts for him, the customer behind him nudged him roughly, alerting him wordlessly that the line ahead of him had advanced forward.

He made one last scan of the menu before deciding on his own drink, approaching the barista with the most pleasant smile he could muster.

“Hey,” he nodded, “I’ll have a Caramel Marvel, two extra shots. And, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back at Mickey, “A black coffee. Extra large.” He smiled proudly at the sensation bubbling in his chest. It was so close to a normal relationship, ordering for his boyfriend. The mere act of buying him a coffee made him feel like he was providing for him, somehow. Showing him how much he was appreciated.

The blonde stared back at him emptily. “What size Caramel?” She crossed her arms across her chest, looking equal parts impatient and disgusted.

“Right, ummmm…” He looked up at the menu board, eyes squinted skeptically. “Extra large. Yeah, both extra large.”

His warm expression was met with a scalding glare. It was as if she were trying to perfect her Angry Mickey impression.

“I heard you’re a real piece of shit, in real life.”

Ian glanced around, taken aback. “Me?”

Her upper lip curled back into a sneer. “Yeah. You. Just like your character.”

Ian could feel a familiar sensation run through him. “Oh, you have opinions. I’ll bet they’re important.” He returned her glare without blinking.

“All Watterson had to do was file the report in time, and the senator would’ve been behind bars. Instead, he’s still out there, committing corporate crimes AS WE SPEAK.”

Ian scrubbed his face with both hands, hiding behind them as she continued to lecture him on the intricacies of white collar crimes within the fictional character realm.

Mickey’s voice cut through the suffocating fog, “Ay! Turn this thing up!”

He slammed his hand on the table nearest him, repeatedly, and sauntered quickly to the flat screen nearest him. The crowd around him followed.

Ian scanned the room for the nearest visible screen as some unseen employee turned up the collective volume in the lobby for the superstar in their midst.

“…And it’s time for another E! News investigation,” the man on the left of the screen announced.

“Dun dun dun!” his female co-host responded. “And I know what it’s about!”

 

  


 

“Ian Gallagher!”

“Yes!”

“In a hot new romance! New show, new love, recently setting headlines on FIRE with his abrupt self-outing…”

“So bold!”

“And, according to new photos, in a passionate embrace caught at the Chateau Marmont!”

Photos from Ian’s meeting with Gail, inevitably bombarded with well-meaning roommates, flashed across the screen, accompanied with two-second video clips of Ian reacting in any manner at all to previous interviews. Jumbled together, it seemed like a cut and paste response to questions posed by the two hosts standing behind their tall desk.

“Our sources say that Ian and his former Resisting the Urge co-star Tyler Ramirez have been secretly dating ever since filming their hit show together.”

“ _So_ hot!”

“And now that Ian has SO BRAVELY stepped out of the closet, his long-time love is rumored to be poised to make his own coming-out statement soon.”

“Judging by those photos, the eager lovers won’t be in the relationship-closet for much longer!”

Ian stared vacantly at the disaster area holding everyone’s attention so raptly. He didn’t realize his mouth was hanging open until Mickey’s hand reached up to close it for him.

He jerked his head away, scoping out his surroundings in panic. The patrons were clapping, cheering, and cat-calling in his direction.

Mickey, to his credit, was laughing so hard that he had to place a hand on his knee to keep from doubling over. After a particularly long whistle followed by several “Yow!”s from the crowd, Mickey opened his mouth to speak.

“Where’s my invite to the wedding, man?” He laid a sympathetic hand on Ian’s shoulder, still rendered speechless. “So… how’s about I give Princess a call to come pick us up? Unless you’d like to take that leisurely stroll back to the set you were so keen on…” He smiled wickedly, casually reaching back to retrieve his coffee.

The last thing he heard before mentally checking out was the blonde barista, behind him at the register, grousing openly about how Tyler could do a million times better.


End file.
